I Didn't Let You Down
by AgentDiNozzo13
Summary: Based on the part in the episode Free Fall when Neal says, "I didn't let you down" to Peter. I just think there was a hidden meaning on why he felt it was so important to say that. A secret from his past. Rated T for mentions of abuse and mild language.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is based on the part in the episode Free Fall when Peter is about to leave Neal in jail, thinking he was the one who stole the diamond, and Neal says, "I didn't let you down."**

**I just think there was more to that than meets the eye. Like there was something from his past that made him not want Peter to think he let him down. I'm not really sure what it is, but here it is. So please read and review! **

**If you haven't seen the episode you may not get it, but to fill you in, earlier in the episode Peter tells Neal that he let him down, and later Neal randomly says, "I didn't let you down." And has this sad distant look on his face.**

**I tend to write more in the NCIS universe, so forgive me if any information here is incorrect.**

_Peter stood from the bench, allowing Mozzi to take his place across from Neal. He was about to leave when he heard Neal call, "I didn't let you down."_

_He stopped and looked back at Neal, who was now looking down at the table with those puppy-dog eyes that always won people over. But there seemed to be something hidden deep behind that look. Some deeper meaning to those words._

_But he left it alone and turned back towards the door, reminding himself that Neal was a criminal. I criminal who was claiming he was framed, but Peter knew it wasn't true. Or did he?_

Neal heard Peter go. He started discussing the updates in the situation, but his mind was somewhere else. He didn't even hear the words that came out of his mouth. All he could hear was Peter's voice, playing on an endless loop in his mind.

_You let me down, Neal. _He had said.

He had heard that too many times before. Too many damn times. Mainly from his father. He could still remember the last time he heard it.

________

"_Neal, what the hell are you doing?" his father asked, after yanking him out of the business dinner. He was dressed in his finest suit, had his hair combed back out of his face, but he had made a fool out of his father. _

"_I was just asking to be excused." Neal said quietly, keeping his expressive green eyes staring at a spot on the floor._

"_You don't ask things like that during one of my business dinners, Neal! You know better! I've told you many times Neal, you sit down and suck it up. It may be boring to you, but I don't give a damn. You will go back in there and sit up straight, and stay like that for the rest of the night .You hear me?"_

"_But--" _

_Neal's father slapped him across the face. Tears threatened to leak out, but Neal held them back. He had received blows worse than that. _

_He nodded and walked back into the dining room, taking his seat at the table between two of his father's business associates. _

_For the rest of the evening Neal received constant glares from his father. He grew more and more anxious, fidgeting in his seat. When the dinner finally came to an end, and the last glass of champagne was drunken, Neal edged out of his seat and tried to slip upstairs unseen. But it was too late. He could hear his father running after him up the stairs in their large mansion. Neal reached the top first and ran to his bedroom, trying desperately to get in and lock the door before his father caught up. _

_Too late again._

_His father ran to the door and shoved it open, knocking Neal onto his back, face-up on the bed. _

"_This should be fun." Neal's father said as his father unbuckled his belt and ordered him to turn onto his back._

_Neal shuddered and held back more tears as he did as he was told. _

_After about a half hour of… unpleasant activities… he felt his father pull off out of him and zipper his pants. However, instead of replacing his belt back into the loops, he used it to whip Neal on the back several times. Neal clenched his teeth to keep from crying out in pain. Just as his father was about to leave the room, he turned back and said, "You've let me down, Neal."_

_Neal slid under his covers and pressed his face into his pillow, finally releasing all his tears. He sobbed for hours before falling asleep. _

_The next morning, his father wasn't there. He waited for days, but his father never came back._

_That was the last time he saw him. And the sad thing is, he was glad._

___________

Neal looked up as Mozzi left the room, completely unaware of what they had just discussed. The only thing he could think of was Peter saying, "Neal, you let me down."

Would this be like the time with his father? Would Peter leave him here in prison and never come back? Neal sighed and pressed his face into his hands, trying to push all the bad memories away. Peter would realize he didn't do this. He just knew he would.

**A/N: There you have it. I'm not sure why but I like writing stories about my favorite guy crime show characters being abused. Like Tony NCIS abuse is on of my favorites. Please leave reviews! This is only my second White Collar fic so don't be cruel! And show I do a follow-up where Peter find s out?**

**Thanks! **

**-AgentDiNozzo13**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: This is a sequal that I semi-promised you guys who like the first chapter of I Didn't Let You Down. It is based upon Peter digging up the hidden meaning behind Neal's words. Hope you enjoy! Please review!**

Later that day Peter was sitting at his dining room table, picking at his dinner. Elizabeth was seated next to him, watching her husband's odd behavior.

"Something wrong, honey?" she asked.

Peter looked up at her, seeming to break out of a daze and sighed. "Yeah, I guess so. Its just…" he paused before continuing, not even totally sure himself what he was worrying about. "its just that Neal said something today when I visited him in prison."

"What did he say?" Elizabeth asked, always curious when it came to Peter's consultant.

"Well I was about to leave and he said called my name. When I looked at him he had those damn puppy-dog eyes and just said 'I didn't let you down.' He didn't say anything else but it almost looked like he was remembering something. Like he was flashing back to some moment in his mind."

Peter looked at Elizabeth for some sort of insight to the problem.

"Well I think I know someone you can ask." Elizabeth said, giving Peter a look and small smile.

"I do too. El, I have to go. I'll be back tonight." Peter said, feeling guilty for leaving in the middle of dinner.

"That's fine, honey, you do what you have to do." She said, understanding that it was important.

Peter nodded and took one last sip of wine, knowing he would probably need it, before grabbing his jacket and heading out.

_Later at the park…_

Peter sat on a bench in the park, holding up an opened newspaper as he was instructed. It was all redicilous, but if he didn't cooperate he may never find out what was bugging Neal.

Several seconds passed before he heard a voice come from behind him.

"I saw a mocking bird in the park today." The voice said. It paused, and when Peter didn't respond the voice became agitated and said, "Now you say 'what color was the mocking bird'!"

"I'm doing the newspaper thing, I'm not doing the stupid bird thing!" Peter said and put the paper on his lap.

Mozzie sighed and turned to face Peter. Their benches were back-to-back as planned.

"You need my assistance?" Mozzie asked, looking around suspiciously as if some agents were watching his every move.

Just looking for some insight on Neal's behavior today. When you came into the meeting area at the prison, do you recall Neal calling my name and saying he didn't let me down?" Peter asked.

"Yes I recall."

Peter cut to the chase, so he didn't have to deal with Mozzie's weird ways for much longer.

"Was there any hidden reason behind that? I'm asking as Neal's friend." He was surprised by the last part. He hadn't meant to say it. He heard Mozzie sigh and turn farther towards Peter, resting his elbow on the back of his bench. Peter did the same.

"This could be crossing the boundaries, suit. Neal is my friend too and I don't know if I should offer this information." Mozzie stated, still looking suspicious.

"Look, I won't tell Neal you told me, I just want to know what's bugging him." Peter said, growing impatient.

Mozzie sighed and looked away for a minute, before turning back to Peter.

"It's just… Well Neal has always had this thing about not letting people down. About keeping up to their level of expectations."

"Why?" Peter asked. That did sound like Neal.

"You see, when he was a kid his father was very wealthy. He would always hold expensive dinner parties and make Neal sit through them. As I'm sure you know, Neal isn't good at sitting still for very long. He never has been. So he would sometimes goof-up or ask to be excused during said-dinner-parties. His father would become enraged, possibly having something to do with the amount of wine and scotch drunken during these dinners, and would… well lets say he would rough Neal up a bit."

"Neal was abused?" Peter cut in, some what surprised.

"Yes", Mozzie said, sighing. "Both physically and sexually."

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose and said, "So what does this have to do with not wanting to let me down?"

"Often times after these parties, Neal's father would beat on him for awhile, and then tell him that he let him down. Neal has heard it so many times that it's become somewhat of a fetish for him not to let people down. Plus…" Mozzie paused, as if rethinking that he should release the last bit of information.

"Plus what?"

Mozzie gave in and said, "It was the last thing Neal's father said to him before leaving."

"Leaving?"

"Yeah. One night his dad just got up and left, taking everything with him including the maids and butlers. Neal was alone in the mansion for several days before he realized that his dad wasn't coming back. After that he lived on the streets. And when he found out about white collar criminals, he became intrigued."

Peter nodded, unable to say anything. He was enraged at the fact of a father doing anything like that to his son, and at the same time he was filled with pity for Neal. He had one more question, though.

"Does that have anything to do with why he doesn't like guns?"

Mozzie rubbed a hand down his face and said, "That is a story for another time, my friend."

When Peter turned back to Mozzie, he was gone. He got up and drove home, knowing he couldn't tell Elizabeth, yet also knowing that he would tell her anyway. But he wouldn't tell Neal what he'd found out. At least not yet. He no longer believed Neal stole the diamond, yet he had to make everyone think he did for the time being. And maybe one day he would confront Neal. Or maybe not. He pulled up to his house and pushed the thoughts aside, wanting only a good night's sleep before Neal's court appearance tomorrow.

**A/N: If you want to hear my opinion on the gun thing, I made a one-shot awhile ago about it. Please read! And please review! Should I make a chapter where Peter confronts Neal? Thanks for reading! New White Collar tonight! Yay! And am I the only one who noticed that Neal said he didn't graduate high school? Any opinions on that?**

**Thanks! **

**-AgentDiNozzo13**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I have decided to turn this into a several-chapter story. **

Two days later…

Neal was exhausted. He'd been cleared by the FBI about the diamond heist, and all he wanted now was to go home and sleep. He reached the large intricately designed doors and was let in by a maid, who instantly said, "You have a visitor, Mr. Caffrey."

"Thanks Sylvia." He said and continued walking in, expecting to see Mozzie awaiting him with a glass of June's wine. The rooms were still dark so he switched on a light. The man sitting in front of him was not who he had expected. His build was more fit, and there was hair on his head. Two things that Mozzie did not have. This man also had a more stern appearance than Mozzie, his eyes set into an intimidating glare. There was one other thing this gentleman had that Mozzie would never have. A gun. Grasped tightly between a white-knuckled fist.

"Evening." Neal said, hoping the man wasn't in a particularly bad mood. He was already trying to formulate a quick escape route that wouldn't put June in any danger.

"Evening." The man returned, giving no intention of releasing the gun's aim at Neal. "It sure has been awhile."

"Yeah. A few years, give or take." Neal said casually, his eyes still trained on the gun. He could feel his hands start to tremble slightly from inside his pockets. He always grew uneasy around guns. It took him several minutes to get over the feeling of déjà vu when he realized that that was the same thing he said to Peter many months ago.

"Much too long, wouldn't you say?" the man said, beginning to stand.

Neal's eyes darted around the room, formulating a quick route up the stairs and out a window, away from June's room.

"Don't worry about June, Neal. She's away for a few days. Lucky, isn't it? No need to put such a nice lady in any danger."

"Look, what do you want from me? You finally run out of money? Need a loan?" Neal asked, anxious to get away. If only Peter would stop by to talk at this exact moment.

"You know I'll never run out of money, Neal. I'm here because I wanted to see my son."

Neal stiffened, but kept his eyes calm and placid.

"You never wanted to see me _before_. Why now?" he said, in a voice that showed he didn't much care about the answer anyway.

"Just tying up some loose ends." His father said.

Suddenly, Neal felt a sharp pain in his chest. The second before he blacked out, he saw a new device in his fathers hands, opposite the gun. It was a tazer.

Peter didn't know whether or not he should confront Neal about what Mozzie had told him. So he decided he would just go over to June's house and talk with him. And if it came up, so be it.

He pulled up outside of June's large house and was let in by a maid. The stair case was right beyond the front door, but that wasn't where he was headed. Something had caught his attention. Neal's hat was lying on the floor in front of a table. One of the expensive chairs was pushed away from the table, as if someone left abruptly. Peter knew that if it was Neal who left it wasn't voluntarily. Neal would never leave without his hat. Never.

Peter walked over to the hat and picked it up by the brim, spinning it around in his hands. Something here wasn't right. It wasn't until several seconds later that he noticed a small amount of confetti littering the ground. It wasn't party confetti, it was the kind released by tazers. It is found in all tazers and is practically impossible to clean. The only way you can get a tazer that doesn't release the confetti is on the black market.

Peter grabbed his phone out of his pocket and hit speed dial. A minute later Jones picked up.

"Jones, Neal's in trouble. Meet me at June's in ten."

Jones followed orders in an instant and hung up. Peter cursed to himself and looked back at Neal's hat. They had to find him. They _would_ find him.

Neal awoke in what looked like an expensive hotel room. Probably the pent house or presidential suite, that was definitely like his father. It took several seconds for his vision to return completely, and for him to become aware of the splitting migraine that wracked his head.

The room he was in was modernly furnished, and seemingly empty. That was something Neal appreciated. He didn't feel like confronting his father until he was in the right mind again. At the moment his thoughts were spinning, deep down into an endless black hole of questions. Why was he here? What did his father want? And most importantly, will he make it out alive?

Neal heard approaching footsteps outside of the door. He considered pretending he was asleep, but the idea was dashed when the door quickly swung open, revealing none other than Mr. Caffrey.

"Sleep well?" his father asked, a devilish grin crossing his face as he shut the door and locked the dead bolt.

"Fine, thanks. Getting tazed always makes for a great sleep." Neal said, with fake cheerfulness to match his father's.

"Good. I'm glad to hear it. I've been out having dinner with a friend, but I wanted to make sure I came back in time to catch you when you were awake."

"I appreciate the courtesy. So what friend was this? Step mother 27? 28?"

"Actually she was simply a friend, however you did miss a few of my weddings over the past few years."

"Well it's hard to attend something you aren't invited to." Neal said sarcastically.

"You mean you didn't get my invitations? I could've sworn you were the first I mailed them to." His father smiled again. Neal didn't like his father's smile, he never had. It was like a grinning coyote looking down on a helpless house cat who was unfortunate enough to wander too far from the boundaries of their yard.

"Look, either tell me what you want, or kill me." Neal said, eyeing the gun at his father's waist.

"Oh I'm not planning on killing you Neal, at least not yet. This is more for revenge."

"Revenge for what? What have I ever done to you?" Neal asked.

"Not revenge to you, Neal. To your friend, Agent Burke." Mr. Caffrey said, still smiling sinisterly.

"Peter? Why Peter?" Neal asked, thoughts of what his father might do racing through his mind.

"I'm glad you asked. He's put several of my associates in prison over the years, which I don't appreciate. When I looked him up I was surprised to see your name as his Criminal Consultant. I never thought that my son of all people would work for the other side."

"It wasn't exactly my first choice." Neal paused before another question popped into his mind. "How is kidnapping me revenge on Peter exactly?"

"Please, Neal, we both know how fond he is of you. And the kidnapping isn't exactly the revenge, it just starts it off. You see that laptop over there?" He gestured across the room to a laptop sitting on a bedside table. Neal nodded. "When I turn that webcam on it's set to stream live video feed to Agent Burke's own computer. He will see every thing I do to you, and the best part is, the entire time he'll know that there's nothing he can do about it. Isn't that fantastic?"

Neal's father's smile grew so that it practically stretched ear to ear. He strode over to the other end of the room and flicked on the webcam.

"Action."

**A/N: I hoped you liked this chapter, I'll try making them more frequent once midterms end. There's a large possibility of a snow day Friday, and if there is I'll have more time to write. Please review, it doesn't have to be long, I just really love reviews. That's why I try my best to review all stories I read, because I know how much they mean to me and I assume it's the same for some other people. **

**Oh and did any one else watch the premiere last night? I loved it! When, at the end, he said "It's the man who made me who I am today." I wonder if its his father! I hope it is! I would love that! It might just be a mentor or something though, I don't know. I hope its his father. **

**Again please review! **

**Thanks!**

**-AgentDiNozzo13**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Slightly graphic scenes in this chapter as Neal is beaten, not too bad but if you are very squeamish you probably shouldn't read. Just a warning. **

Peter was at the bureau, sitting at his desk, deep in thought. It'd been hours since Caffrey was last seen, but nothing at June's house was found aside from the tazer confetti. They had no idea where Neal could be, and it was killing Peter. He looked at his computers desktop. It was the FBI logo, big and bold against a navy blue background. His eyes traced every line of the symbol, focusing on small details.

Suddenly the screen went pitch black.

A second later an image popped up. No, not an image, a video. Peter squinted and leaned in closer, the room in the video was dimly lit. There was a figure slumped against what Peter thought was a desk. The figure appeared to be a person, but their head was down. A lamp was flicked on by a second person off-screen, making the room slightly less dim.

Peter's breath stopped short in his throat. The slumped-over figure had to be Caffrey. He'd recognize that mop of brown hair anywhere.

"LOOK UP!" shouted a voice from somewhere off-screen.

A small mumble came from Neal, "No".

"Yes, show Agent Burke who you are." That was the second voice again. It was deeper than Neal's, and had an air of sophistication in the way he annunciated.

Neal's head slowly lifted to face the camera. His hair was sticking every which-way, and he was clad in a white V-neck t-shirt and navy blue slacks. One of the ankles of the pants was pulled up enough to see part of his anklet. Yup, it was definitely Caffrey.

"Neal…" Peter whispered, knowing full-well that Neal couldn't hear him.

A face suddenly came in front of the camera, it was clean-shaven and had a mile-wide grin plastered on. Peter could smell the expensive cologne already.

"Hello Agent Burke. I assume you are watching this. Neal is very sorry he left so abruptly, we really meant to leave a note." The man smiled again. Peter didn't like that man's smile at all. It was sinister. "Anyway, I thought I'd explain to you the reason I brought Neal here. You see, over the last few months you've put several of my best associates in prison. I was going to leave it alone, but when I found out Neal here was your consultant, it was just too easy. Now before you try and find out a way to get him back, don't. I will return him when I feel it is necessary. Just be patient and you'll have your pet criminal back before you know it."

Peter saw Neal stiffen; he hated being called a pet.

"Just log on to this website…"

A small box with a website link on it appeared.

"… every night at exactly 8pm, starting tonight. Believe me, you won't want to miss this."

And with that the video shut off, leaving a box that said "Connection Closed" on it. Peter got up and practically ran into the bullpen, signaling for Jones to follow him back to his office.

He then proceeded to tell Jones about the video, Neal, and the website he was supposed to visit.

"Did the video record?" Jones asked.

"There's a playback button below it. That man looked so familiar. Take a look at the video." Peter said and rubbed a hand through his hair, his other hand resting on his hip.

Jones sat in Peter's computer chair and began to watch the video. When the man put his face in front of the camera, Jones paused it.

"Peter, I know who this is." Jones said, a worried look on his face.

Peter walked toward Jones and put his hand on the desk. "Who?"

"James Caffrey. Neal's dad."

Peter froze and stared at the paused image. Suddenly it all came back. "Four years ago at Caffrey's trial, we contacted him and asked if he was willing to testify."

"Yeah, but he told us he didn't have a son and hung up."

Peter remembered talking with Mr. Caffrey on the phone, he remembered the same sophisticated voice telling him he had never had a son, and that if he did he most certainly would not be a criminal. That sickened Peter. Parents are supposed to love their children no matter what, whether they be an esteemed doctor or a ruthless criminal. And Neal was such a great guy! Peter thought of Neal as somewhat of a younger brother who simply needed guidance. He didn't understand why his own father would deny even being related to him. And now this? Who kidnaps their son for revenge on an agent? This was absurd.

But Peter knew he couldn't think about that right now. Neal was in trouble, and it was almost eight.

**A/N: Just wanted to get this chapter posted, I know it's short but I had the idea in my mind and needed to get it down before I forgot it. **

**To Angela, a reviewer: I'm sorry I haven't had time to update as much as I'd like, and the reason it started in April and is just being updated now is because I didn't decide to make it a full story until recently. And as I said in my last author's note, I'm going to try to make the postings more frequent now that life has calmed down. And I do think about this story a lot, I just haven't had a chance to put my thoughts down on paper. I'm not mad, I just think it was a rather harsh review, and I think you should pay more attention to the author's notes, as I explained my posting dilemma in the last one. Please keep your negative opinions to yourself unless they are constructive to my writing. Thank you for your input, and I hope you continue to read my story. **

**To everyone else, I hope to post the next chapter soon, probably within the next week, and I hope you all continue to read and review. Thanks!**

**-AgentDiNozzo13**


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Please visit my profile and vote on a poll, I have two new story ideas and I don't know which one to write. The first is Neal sitting on the ledge of his apartment at June's slightly drunk, contemplating jumping, and Peter has to try and talk him down. The second would be a story explaining what happened directly after the plane exploded, because they only showed the actual explosion then skipped ahead two months. I would explain the happenings of the two months in between. Please vote, they would either be one-shots or several chapter fics, not long ones. Thanks!

Peter arrived home at 7:45, along with Jones. Elizabeth had received a call from Peter before he left for home, but was very brief and wouldn't tell her what the problem was over the phone. She was sitting on the living room couch when the two agents walked in. Elizabeth stood and crossed the room to her husband, kissing him on the cheek before getting right down to business.

"Peter, what's going on? Is this about Neal?" She always immediately assumed that when her husband was this worked up, the younger consultant must be involved.

"Yeah, honey." He walked to the couch with El in tail, and Jones sat across from them. "Neal has been kidnapped."

Elizabeth's eyes went wild, and her voice became overcome with worry.

"What? Who would do such a thing? Do they know where he is?" she asked.

"El, the person who kidnapped him," Peter sighed and took El's hand in his, "it was his father."

El gasped and put her free hand over her mouth in disbelief. "What? Why would his father do that? Where did he take him? Peter?"

"Easy, El. All we have to work with is this website." He pulled out a piece of scrap paper he had written the address on.

"What about it?" El asked, her eyes slightly calmer but still wide with fear.

"He said to visit this website every night at 8:00. He has a webcam that he's planning on recording Neal with. We already got one video. But that one was prerecorded, these ones are going to be live. It looked like he was in a hotel room, but we couldn't tell where."

El's eyes had a faint trace of tears threatening to fall. "Honey, it's almost eight."

Peter looked at the clock. 7:53. "I know, Jones is setting up software on my laptop to record the video. Knowing Neal he might try sending some sort of signal, and we have to make sure we catch it if it's there. When the time comes, El, you should probably go upstairs."

"I'm staying right here." Elizabeth said matter-of-factly.

"No, El…" Peter started to say before she cut him off.

"I care about Neal too, and I have a right to know what's happening to him. I'm staying."

Peter didn't bother arguing with her. When she has her mind set there's no way to change her mind.

Peter looked at the clock again. 7:55.

"Jones?" he asked the other agent.

"Software's set boss." He replied.

"Good. Pull up the website."

Jones pulled up the internet and entered the URL into the address bar. The webpage had a black background and the words "click here to enter" across the top in white. There was a tab next to the words that Jones clicked on. A box popped up, asking for a password.

"Dammit!" Peter cursed, "What's the password?"

Elizabeth leaned towards the coffee table that held the laptop, and said, "Try 'Neal'".

Jones looked at Peter who shrugged his shoulders. He typed in the word 'Neal' into the password box, and was instantly granted access into the website.

Peter looked at Elizabeth who simply smiled and went back to looking at the screen.

The background was still black, but now there was a box directly in the middle. It said, "No signal, please wait until video is scheduled to begin."

Peter glanced at the clock a third time. 7:59. Suddenly the video came to life.

…

Neal heard his father coming back into the room. He tried to move deeper into his crevice in between the desk and wall, but had no luck. His handcuffed hands didn't give him any help. They lay uselessly in his lap.

"Time for the show to start." Neal's father said, switching on the web cam.

…

The first thing Peter saw was Neal, still crouched in the same corner. His hair now hung over into his face, something Neal usually would never allow. His father suddenly walked into the shot, facing the camera.

"Hello Agent Burke, and friends, I presume. Neal and I are just getting started, aren't we Neal?"

Neal made no move to respond. Mr. Caffrey's face took on an angry tone, and he went over to Neal's hunched form.

"Don't you know to answer me when I'm talking to you, boy?" the man yelled.

Peter cringed, the word 'boy' was said with such distaste. He had no doubt Neal had been called that a lot in his life.

Peter heard a faint, "Sorry sir" come from Neal.

Neal's father grabbed Neal by the shoulder and hoisted him on his feet. Neal stumbled before balancing himself. Peter noticed that Neal's hands were cuffed in front of him. His head stated down, avoiding the camera. It was as if Neal was ashamed for being in the position he was in.

"Now say hello to your agent friend. He's waiting."

Neal's head slowly lifted to face the camera. Hair partially covered his right eye, but from what Peter could see Neal had not been hurt yet. His eyes were completely emotionless, which was unusual for the usually overly-expressive man.

"Peter." Was Neal's only greeting. Neal's eyes flicked from the screen to the side of the room several times, as if watching for someone or something.

"Much better." His father said. He used the hand holding the shirt on Neal's shoulder to shove Neal down to the ground, out of sight of the camera. Mr. Caffrey then leaned over and positioned the camera to face the floor of the room. Neal lay in a heap, slowly using his cuffed hands to push his body into more of a sitting position. Just before he was sitting straight up, a harsh kick to the ribs sent him tumbling back down.

Peter was reconsidering his refusal to pay for Neal's combat training. His partner had no idea how to fight, and even if he did have an inkling of fighting skill, Neal was somewhat of a pacifist.

Peter watched helplessly as Neal's father landed a series of punches, kicks, and shoves to defenseless Neal. When Neal was lifted to his feet again, his father reached into a front pants pocket and pulled out a small black item. A second later he watched a knife blade flick out. At that point Elizabeth let out a small gasp. Peter wished his wife wasn't seeing this, but even if he asked her to leave now, she surely wouldn't.

Mr. Caffrey positioned the camera back up so both he and Neal could be seen from the waist-up. Neal was panting heavily and clutching his arm to his rib cage. Neal looked into the camera with a pleading look. Peter couldn't believe that this was happening to Neal and he had no control over it. Peter again saw Neal's eyes flashing over to the side of the screen. Neal was suddenly shoved into the wall opposite the web cam, and he slid down slowly until he was again lying in his corner. Neal's father walked over to him, knife still in hand, and flipped Neal over onto his stomach, pinning him. He ripped the t-shirt off with the knife, and made a three-inch long cut into the upper-left side of Neal's back. Neal hissed and clenched his teeth, but made no move to struggle.

Peter realized what the cut was, it was a tally mark. To signify that one day had passed. When Neal's father stood up, he used Neal's shirt to wipe the blood off his knife, and put it neatly back into his pocket. Peter noticed Neal shivering in the background, most likely because it was 20 degrees outside and he didn't have a shirt on.

Mr. Caffrey put his face in front of the camera once again. "That's round one." He said bitterly. And with that he shut the camera off and signal was lost.

Everyone sat back and took in the silence of the room. Elizabeth had a hand clasped over her mouth, several tears running silently down her face. Jones was silent, his face unreadable. Peter was the first to break the silence.

"Jones, could you trace where the video came from?"

Jones looked up, breaking out of his thoughts, "No, the signal was crossed and I was given about thirty locations. He's good."

Peter ran a hand down his face, and put his arm around El, hugging her close.

"And we can't tell Hughes either. He's turn the case over to another division. We aren't in charge of kidnapping cases and investigating our own is social suicide according to the belt-and-suspender boards.

"So what do we do?" Jones asked.

"We use our own resources. Make our own investigation. And in the mean time, look over the video again and look for any signals from Neal."

"Got it." Jones said and began to replay the video.

"I can't watch it again." El said and got up, exiting the room, Satchmo at her heals.

"Where is he holding you, Neal?" Peter said absent-mindedly as he watched the video for the second time.

…

Later that night, Peter lay in bed next to El, thinking. The video played endlessly in his mind, certain parts more often then others. He knew there must be some clue in that video, some clue that would tell him where Neal was. He just wasn't sure yet. Then he remember how Neal's eyes had kept flicking over to the side of the room. Peter had a weird feeling that it meant something other than just Neal's ever-present paranoia.

He quietly and slowly got out of bed, making sure he didn't wake El, and got his laptop out. He sat on the edge of his bed, clad only in sweatpants and a t-shirt, and pulled up the video. As it loaded he checked the clock on his bedside table. 4:25. He'd be up in a few hours anyway.

When the video loaded and began to play, Peter fast-forwarded to the first time Neal's eyes were visible to the camera. Instantly his pupils began to dart to the side and back. Peter followed their lead and noticed nothing unusual except…

"Bingo." Peter whispered, unhooking his phone from its charger to call Jones.

A/N: Thank you all for reading, and I very much hope you review this chapter. I would also like your opinions: should Peter find Neal's location before the next video is set to air, or after another few days? It all depends on how much Neal whump you want. Please let me know, your opinions matter to me. I write to please my fans as well as myself. Thank you and again please review!

**-AgentDiNozzo13**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I have decided to give a little extra Neal whump time, but for those of you who want him safely with Peter immediately don't worry, because more whump equals more Peter comfort when Neal admits to his past. However there still is that clue from the last chapter, remember? I'm evil, I know. Plus for those people saying I should rate this story M, no "unpleasant activities" will be happening now that Neal is an adult. Only physical pain, not sexual. There was only that mention, and possibly slight others later, but when there is I will put a warning in the author's note. **

**Please enjoy!**

Neal watched as his father left the room. His stride was slightly swaggering. He must've had s drink before beginning the video for Peter.

Peter. Neal wondered if Peter was looking for him. He probably was. No, he definitely was. He had to believe that someone was out there looking for him. He wondered if Peter had picked up on the message he'd been trying to send. Using your eyes to point something out isn't the most clever way of dropping a hint, but if Peter understood it, that's all that mattered.

Neal tried standing up, using his cuffed hands for support, and managed to get into a half-standing half-hunching over position. His ribs really hurt. He took several shaky steps towards the camera, but just as he reached out to turn it on, he collapsed in front of the bedside table.

…

Peter arrived at the FBI office at 5:10, just as Jones was pulling in. They walked together to the bullpen, where Peter instructed him to put his things at his desk and meet him in his office. Jones did as he was told, and when he reached Peter's office, Peter's laptop was already out and turning on.

Jones walked over to Peter's chair and looked over his shoulder. Peter was pulling up the video from the previous night.

"What's this all about, Peter?" Jones asked.

"Neal _was_ sending us a signal. Watch." Peter said, smiling in spite of himself. Any clue that helped them find Caffrey was good to him.

Jones leaned over farther, interested. He watched as Peter fast-forwarded the video to the right scene, and hit play. It was when Neal first showed his face to the camera.

"_There!_ See how his eyes are darting back and forth?" Peter asked.

"Yeah, so what? Maybe he's just paranoid. I would be." Jones replied.

"But watch where his eyes go, Clinton. Look over to the side." Peter said, trying to make his fellow agent understand.

"It's just a window there, Peter." Jones said, growing more confused by the second.

"_Look out the window!_" Peter said. Did he really have to spell it out for him?

Jones said nothing at first, but just as Neal's father went to move the camera downward toward Neal, who was now lying on the ground, Jones saw it.

"It's a hospital." Jones said.

"Exactly. Saint Mary's Hospital, to be exact. There are only two of those in near Manhattan, and judging by the amount of time between Neal's kidnapping and the first video being made, they couldn't have gone too far." Peter said, smiling. He had that slight adrenaline rush feeling inside him that he always gets when there's a major breakthrough in the case.

"Peter, I don't mean to ask a stupid question or anything, but did you trying pulling Caffrey's tracking data yet?" Jones asked. He assumed the highly intelligent agent had, but since he didn't witness it himself, he felt the need to ask.

Peter gave him a look that said, 'Do you think I'm an idiot?'. "Yes, I called up the Marshall's office as soon as I realized Neal was gone."

"And?" Jones inquired.

"_And_ he altered the signal. It was telling them he was with me." Peter replied, solemnly.

"I'm just makin' sure, boss." Jones said. "Did you cross-reference hotels in the areas of the two hospitals?"

"Yeah and I got five results. Two are near the hospital in Manhattan, and three are near the one on the edge of town. But one of those three isn't close enough to see it that well out a window. So we have four to work with."

"Great. Which four?" Jones asked.

Peter handed him the list.

"I'll go call and see if and James Caffrey's checked in." Jones said as he began to walk out of the office.

"What if he used an alias?" Peter called as Jones was walking down the stairs into the bullpen. He stopped and turned back to Peter.

"We'll have to hope he didn't."

…

Neal had managed to do somewhat of a combat crawl in order to get back into his corner before his father came. He was just pushing himself up into a sitting position when the door burst open. His father walked past him, taking a bottle of wine and a glass off the counter. Neal watched as his father poured the wine into the glass, licking his parched lips. It'd been awhile since he'd last had a drink of… well, anything. He hadn't eaten anything either, but that didn't phase him. He didn't tend to eat regularly anyway.

He felt like he needed to say something to his father, but knowing him, he might just get angry and hurt him further. Neal didn't know how much of this he could take. He was never good with fighting back, he had learned at an early age that it was best to spend your time shielding yourself rather than defending yourself. He hoped Peter was close.

Neal looked at the clock on the bedside table. It was only 6:00am. He still had 14 hours left until his next chance at trying to slip hints to Peter. He needed to think of what else he could do to give more information. He couldn't do mores code with his hands cuffed and out of the camera's view.

Or could he?

…

Peter was in his office, watching parts of the video over and over. He didn't like watching the scenes where Neal was hurt, he instead focused on ones where Neal was looking at the camera. He was trying to figure out if there were more signals he'd missed. It didn't seem to be the case, but he kept looking regardless. He had also spent awhile with the video paused on the image where the window was closest, looking for any other landmark-type buildings or signs, but could only see the hospital's large sign and several building tops that had no significance. They looked like any other sky scraper roofs in New York.

Jones came in and Peter's head snapped up from the computer. He had a moment of dizziness, probably from staring at a computer screen for almost an hour. It quickly passed and he asked Jones if he had any luck.

"No James Caffrey's checked in at the hotels."

"Dammit." Peter said, even though he hadn't expected Neal's dad to use his real name. It had merely been a small shred of hope that Neal's father wasn't as smart as his son.

"_But…_" _Jones said after Peter interrupted him._

"But _what?" _Peter asked, hope rising in his chest again.

"Someone did check in to Ellsbury Hotel penthouse suite yesterday. A man by the name of Vincent Adler."

"That's the name Neal's father used when the court requested he testify at Neal's trial! When he said he never had a son." Peter said, blood pulsing through his veins at 85mph.

"There's only one problem." Jones said, much to Peter's dismay.

"What?"

"We can't go in there without a warrant, and we can't get that without telling Hughes. And we can't just knock on the door; if Neal's dad sees us and panics he could kill Neal."

Peter sighed heavily and rubbed his hands down his face. He hated to admit it, but it was true. They would have to tell Hughes. But Peter knew damn-well that he wasn't letting him give the case to some other team. He would put his career on the line if it meant being the one to save Neal. He needed the younger man's trust. Neal wasn't one to trust people easily, but he hoped Neal realized that he was looking for him. And that he would get him out of there.

Peter got up from his desk and called over his shoulder to Jones, "I'm going to tell Hughes" as he walked out of his office.

**A/N: Yes, I know, there was no Neal whump in this chapter. I just needed to stick a little boring one in there to explain how things are going at the bureau. The next video posting will be in the next chapter, which I hope to get up by Wednesday, but I can't make any promises. I have to babysit on Tuesday, and watch the NEW WHITE COLLAR where Neal talks about his past! So it probably won't be up until Wednesday or later. SO excited about the new episode. Please review! You've all been so helpful and loyal! **

**I'd like to send out a shout-out to babybluepineapple, who's been very helpful and encouraging with this story, including giving me the idea of combining my two story ideas. I may or may not do that, you will have to wait and see. Thanks BBP!**

**-AgentDiNozzo13**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I have to admit last night's episode was a slight disappointment since his childhood was not mentioned at all, but I expected that. Although Neal was incredibly cute eight years ago! The scene with him and Kate in the apartment when she took the sheet was hilarious! My fic is now slightly AU since the episode last night confirmed that Vincent Adler was a different person, but is still mainly following the facts of the show. I try not to let details get altered in my stories, I simply add my own ideas about their pasts and such. Please read and enjoy! You are all very encouraging. **

Peter walked into Hughes' office without knocking; something only a person who'd been with the bureau as long as Peter had would dare to attempt. Hughes looked up from a case file.

"Can I help you with something, Agent Burke?" Hughes asked. Peter could tell he wasn't in the best of moods, if he were he would've called him Peter.

"Neal was kidnapped."

Hughes eyes flickered with interest and masked concern.

"When?"

"The other night." Peter said, cringing inwardly at how long of a time they'd waited to tell Hughes. It was their best bet at finding Caffrey, after all.

"Why didn't you tell me about this sooner?" Hughes asked, standing.

"I thought you would turn the investigation over to the kidnapping unit or the police. But I have evidence that he's being kept in the Ellsbury hotel. I just don't have a warrant." Peter explained.

"What's your evidence, exactly?" Hughes asked, always a stickler for warrant law to be followed.

"We have a video of him, he's in a hotel room. Outside the window was a Saint Mary's Hospital. There are only two close enough to here to make sense with the time gap between the kidnapping and the first video."

"First?" Hughes interrupted. "There's more than one? Where did you get them?"

"He sent them to us. But I cross-referenced hotels in the areas of the two hospitals and I have four probable results."

"So what makes you think Caffrey's in the Ellsbury?" Hughes interrupted yet again.

"Because a man checked in by the name of Vincent Adler." Peter concluded, waiting for Hughes to question further.

"Who is Vincent Adler?" Hughes asked, trying to make sense of how it all tied together.

"He's an alias Neal's father used eight years ago when we first arrested him."

"Wait a second… are you saying that Neal was kidnapped by his own father?" Hughes asked, his eyes squinting with disgust.

"Yeah, they don't have the best past. His father, James Caffrey, kidnapped him for revenge on me for putting a few of his associates away."

Hughes was silent for a moment, pushing aside the hidden sympathy for the ex-con.

"Is the alias justifiable? Do you have it on paper that he's used it before?"  
Peter stopped short. His worry for Neal was clouding his ability to do proper investigative work.

"No, he only used it once, verbally. To deny he was Neal's father when we wanted him to testify. It's never been used on paper." Peter said, a lump forming in his chest.

"Then it isn't probable cause. If we try and use a warrant to bust down that hotel door, the judge is going to ask how we know it isn't just a man named Vincent Adler. Maybe, when you called James Caffrey to testify, he gave you a random name he'd heard in passing, and the real Vincent Adler is the one who's checked into that hotel. You _need_ to find out more." Hughes said, bringing Peter's confidence down another notch. "Now, what are these videos you mentioned?"

"Neal's dad sent us a website link. Every night at 8pm he streams live from his hotel room. We've only got one real video so far, and one prerecorded one. The second one showed him beating Neal. He's trying to get to us by showing Neal in pain. And I have a feeling the videos are going to get a lot worse if we don't find him _soon_." Peter put an emphasis on the word 'soon'. Hughes needed to realize how serious this was.

"We will find him, Peter. And I have no problem with you running the investigation. Just keep it quiet, if the press gets wind of this Neal's life will be full of photographers and camera crews questioning him and waiting outside his home. And we both know he won't like that."

"Thank you, sir." Peter said before leaving the office, heading back to his own. He sure hoped Neal had another clue to offer tonight. For both of their sakes.

…

Neal had drifted off to sleep unexpectedly, and when he awoke it was 2:00pm. Six hours to go until he could slip a hint to Peter. He already had an idea formulating in his mind. It had worked once before, in a slightly different way, however. He hoped Peter would understand it. He looked over at the bedside table. Next to the laptop was a list of TV channels in a holder. Above it in _FrenchScript MJ_ font was the word "Ellsbury". Perfect.

Neal sighed and looked down at his exposed chest and torso. There were several bruises forming over his rib cage, as well as one that was over what Neal thought was his spleen, but couldn't be sure. Anatomy was never his best subject. They ached slightly, and his head was killing him, but he had endured much worse under his father's wrath. He hoped he could get through this.

He especially knew he couldn't cry. He'd always been an emotional guy, his bright blue eyes not allowing him to mask feelings easily. But he made sure he never cried in front of people. The only person he'd ever cried in front of, other than his father, was Mozzie. Once. It was the time he told Mozzie about his reason for not liking guns. He'd had a few too many glasses of wine, and the effects of the alcohol left him raw and exposed. He had recounted it vividly to Mozzie, breaking down emotionally and crying into Mozzie's shoulder.

He couldn't cry here. His father would call him a wimp and a disappointment. He'd tell him he let him down. And Peter would see. He'd see his larger-than-life consultant expose what a coward he was. He couldn't let that happen.

Neal thought back to the first crime scene where he encountered a body. It was following a series of home invasions and the theft of multiple jade elephants. Peter had made a remark to him. It was something like, "Unbelievable. You can jump out of a five story building onto the awning of a bakery, but blood gives you the shakes." He had taken the comment to heart more than Peter probably realized at the time. He always had to uphold standards with other people. He couldn't let them realize that deep down, he had multiple secret fears. Guns, death, blood, doctors, guns, prison, abandonment, betrayal, guns; the list went on and on.

As more memories of his childhood resurfaced, Neal slowly drifted back to sleep. When he awoke, his father was looming over him, smiling his twisted smile.

"Showtime."

…

The day went by in years for Peter. By the time 8:00 finally rolled around, he was ready to pull his hair out and kick down that hotel door regardless of what Hughes had said. He'd driven home at 6 for dinner with El, which distracted him, but only briefly. Even El was silent at dinner, knowing it was almost time for the next video to air. Peter really wished El wouldn't watch this one, but he knew she would. She had a strong maternal instinct. It was one of the things he loved and hated about her. She cared for the young con as if he were her own. That's usually great, until the time comes when he's getting hurt and she refuses to look away. Her protectiveness over the men in her life was strong.

At 7:45 Jones arrived at Peter's house.

"Hughes didn't tag along?" Peter asked semi-sarcastically. He knew Hughes cared, but not enough to lose sleep over it.

"No he said he'll look over the videos tomorrow if he has time."

Peter bit back anger at the Hughes' lack of concern for Neal. Instead, he got his laptop from upstairs and put in on the coffee table. After successfully logging into the site, everyone sat with fear and anticipation, staring silently at the screen.

After several long minutes, the screen came to life.

There was Neal, still in his corner, as far away from his father and the camera as possible. James Caffrey strode out into view of the camera, right over to Neal. He grabbed his son by the upper arm, slowly lifting him up into a standing position. By the way Neal swayed, Peter guessed his head wasn't feeling that great. Neal was then pulled over into the center of the room, in full view of the camera. James looked into the camera and sneered.

"Agent Burke, I know you'll _love_ this."

Peter wished he could slap the grin right off that man's face. But instead he just watched as James pulled a gun from his waistband. Peter gasped internally. Everyone in the room knew of Neal's ever-present fear of guns. He watched as Neal's eyes widened with fear, taking a step back.

"That's right, son. I remember how you never liked my guns." His father said, still grinning wickedly.

Neal visibly gulped and locked his eyes on the gun. Peter squinted, and noticed his partner trembling violently. Peter couldn't stand being so helpless. He knew how petrified Neal must be.

James Caffrey took a step toward his son, gun still trained on him. Neal stepped back again. He put his cuffed hands up, in as much of a surrender as he could manage with his limited hand movement.

"Dad, please…"

"I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU NEVER TO CALL ME THAT!" James suddenly yelled, charging several steps more towards Neal, backing him in a corner. He had the gun inches away from Neal's face. Peter watched as Neal closed his eyes tightly. He just barely heard Neal whisper, "Please…" before the con slid down the wall into a sitting-squatting position. His hands were palm-up in front of his face, which was turned inward towards the corner.

Neal's father paused for a moment, and then laughed sinisterly. It started out quiet, then grew into a loud booming laugh. A rich man's laugh. His eyebrows were scrunched together, making him look exceptionally evil. Although, in Peter's opinion, he could be holding a puppy on the cover of Good Homes and Gardens magazine and he'd still look evil.

Peter looked back at Neal, who was shaking harder, mumbling to himself in the corner. Peter's heart ached for the younger man. After his father was through laughing, he grabbed the camera and zoomed into where Neal was sitting. Neal slowly moved his head to face the camera. His eyes were pleading, bruises from last night becoming evident on his face and chest.

Peter winced inwardly when he remember Neal was still shirtless in a thirty degree room. He knew Neal's shaking wasn't from the temperature, but it probably didn't help.

Peter noticed that Neal was blinking, more than the usual person. Every half a second he'd give one or two blinks. Peter wondered if he were blinking back tears, or if the light from the computer was hurting his head. Neal had a pained expression on his face the entire time the camera was zoomed in, an expression that not only said, "I'm hurting", but also, "please get me out of here". Peter looked over at Elizabeth. He hand was covering her mouth, and her eyes held silent tears. He knew she shouldn't have watched. He switched his gaze over to Jones, who was emotionless other than his hands clenching and unclenching, a sign he was angry. Angry with Neal's father, most likely. Although Neal and Jones didn't have much of a relationship, Peter could recall Jones once telling him that Neal was like a younger step-brother. Someone you had to put up with but secretly looked out for. They were only several years apart, so the brother analogy worked.

Looking back at the screen, Mr. Caffrey was just un-zooming the camera to cover the whole room again. He went in front of the screen, still holding the gun. Peter could see Neal looking at the camera from his corner. His father spoke.

"Now do you see what a coward your partner is? He's afraid of a gun! A gun for God sake! Watch…"

Suddenly Neal's father turned around and fired. The bullet landed in the wall next to Neal. Neal looked as if he'd just had a heart attack. He swore quietly when the bullet hit, pinning himself against the other wall. His heart was beating so fast Peter could faintly see the con's chest moving. Moving rapidly. Neal's eyes were once again wide with fright, similar to a deer-caught-in-headlights look.

James laughed at his son's reaction and holstered his gun, walking over to Neal. He shoved the quivering man onto his stomach, pulling out his knife. The laceration from yesterday had closed, but blood had stained the area around it. James used the knife to cut a second line, of the same length, parallel to the first. The second tally.

He saw Neal clenching his eyes shut, trying to stay quiet as the blade slid across his skin. Within seconds it started to bleed. That's when Mr. Caffrey stood, replacing the knife in his pocket. He walked over to the camera, his eyes burning with hate.

"That's round two."

And the screen went black.

Peter sat up, realizing he had been leaning in to stare closely at the screen. Elizabeth stood and walked out of the room, holding up her hand when Peter went to follow her. He understood. She just needed a minute to compose herself. Jones still looked the same, but his eyes held more anger. Peter knew Jones wanted to get this guy just as much as he did.

"Did you see Caffrey made any signal?" Jones asked after several moments of silence.

"No, not anything obvious. I'll have to review it a few more times when El's not here." Peter replied.

Peter was about to close his laptop when an idea struck him. It was a stretch, but there was always the chance.

"Clinton, go in the kitchen and distract El. Ask her to make coffee or something. I think I know when Neal signaled us, but I don't want her to see it." Peter said, hoping Jones would understand.

"Sure, boss." Jones said, standing and retreating into the kitchen after El. Once Peter knew he heard their voices in conversation, he hit the replay button and fast-forwarded. He was at the scene where Neal was blinking back tears. Peter knew this wasn't likely to be anything, but he had to try.

As Neal stared into the camera, blinking repeatedly, Peter counted each blink. He had pulled his small notepad out and was writing down corresponding letters. Morse code.

_E… _

_L…_

_L… _

_S…_

_B… _

_U… _

_R… _

_Y…_

"That's it! EL! JONES! Get in here!" Peter called. When they both came out, El was holding a tea cup full of steaming chamomile. Probably for herself, she got tired of coffee after awhile.

"Neal was sending us Morse code. It spells Ellsbury." Peter said, smiling.

Jones immediately understood, but El seemed confused.

"That's the hotel we thought Neal was in." Peter clarified, having momentarily forgotten his wife wasn't completely in the loop.

"Honey that's great! Does that mean you can go get him now?" She asked, immensely concerned about Neal's safety.

"Not quite. First we have to go to a judge and make sure this is considered probable cause. If so, then we get a warrant. _Then_ we can get him." Peter explained, growing more and more displeased with the legal system. The system he usually strongly enforced.

"I say we go kill that son-of-a-bitch right now." Jones said, also annoyed with the law.

Peter gave Jones a stern look for using foul language around his wife, even though he knew El didn't care.

"I can't see a judge tonight, because the chambers closed at six." Peter said, his voice slightly bitter. "I have to wait until tomorrow morning at nine when they open."

"I just hope Neal can make it that long." El said, voicing the worry inside everyone's head.

"So do I." Peter said, looking at the still-image of Neal's face on the screen from when he last paused it. "So do I."

**A/N: I only had one mid-term today, so I was out of school at nine thirty, plenty of time to write! That's why this chapter's a little longer than most. But now I left you guys with a three-way cliffhanger. Will Neal make it through the night? Will the judge consider it probable cause? And most importantly, if it isn't probable cause, how the hell are they getting Neal out of there? So many questions. That only I know the answer to. If you want a hint on how to get me to update faster, here it is: review! :D The more reviews I get, the more motivation I have. They really brighten my day. And I always appreciate your suggestions and constructive criticism. **

**Poll Status: So far, the suicide story is ranking highest, although there's also the idea I mentioned by babybluepineapple, of combining the two. First the explosion and aftermath, then Neal's breakdown and possible attempt at suicide. I hope to post it soon, but I'm still unsure… **

**Hope you enjoyed! Please review! Thanks!**

**-AgentDiNozzo13**


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: I was watching my season one White Collar DVD earlier, particularly the episode Hard Sell, with commentary by Matt Bomer, Tim DeKay, and Jeff Eastin. When the part came up about Neal not wanting to skeet shoot because of his dislike of guns, Jeff Eastin said that they are making it a point to stress that Neal doesn't like guns. I'm hoping that means they will elaborate in the near future. I really am curious of the actual reason. Just wanted to put that out there, in case anyone else has been wondering as much as me.

**Anyway, please enjoy! I apologize for my rambling. :)**

Peter had been waiting outside the judge's chambers since 7:00. Two hours later, when the doors finally opened, Peter was out of his Taurus and inside the building in three seconds flat. The receptionist was just settling in, putting away what looked like file folders or stacks of paper. She still hadn't gotten a chance to take her coat off.

Peter walked up to the desk, already inpatient.

"Can I help you?" the receptionist, Brittany, said with a warm smile.

"Agent Peter Burke, FBI." He said, pulling out his badge for proof. "I need to speak with the judge right away."

"The judge is just getting in, if you'd like you can wait in our lounge until he's ready." She offered, still smiling.

"No, actually you're going to call him right now. Tell him who I am, he'll let me up there." Peter said, more sternly than he meant. He didn't miss when the receptionist's smile wavered, but he was more-so paying attention to her picking up the phone.

"Hello, Judge Bridges?… Yes, an FBI agent is here to see you… Peter Burke… ok I'll send him up now, thank you sir." Brittany said, putting down the receiver.

Peter was heading for the stairs before she could finish saying, "The judge will see you now."

…

Peter walked into the judge's office, a luxury he had due to his long-time friendship with Judge Bridges.

"Peter, nice to see you again. How's Elizabeth?" the judge asked, beginning small talk.

"She's fine, but there's no time for that. I need a warrant." Peter said, cutting right to the chase.

"Slow down, Peter, what's the warrant for?"

"You remember my consultant, Neal Caffrey?" Peter asked. When Judge Bridges nodded, he continued. "He's been kidnapped, and I have reason to believe he's being held in the Ellsbury hotel."

"What is your proof, Peter?" the judge asked, hoping Peter had some. He knew Peter's judgment became clouded when it came to people he cared about. And Bridges knew for a fact that Peter cared about Neal.

"Well, we know hes being kept in a hotel near a Saint Mary's hospital. There are only two close enough to fit with the time between him being taken and our first contact. Four hotels fit the criteria. One hotel, the Ellsbury, had a man check in the other day. Vincent Adler. It's an alias Caffrey's father used once. It's not on paper but we remember him using it once when he denied Neal was his son."

"I'm hoping that's not all, Peter. You know that if the alias isn't on paper it can't be considered probable cause." The judge interrupted.

"I know, but last night, we received a video of Neal. The third one, in total. In it he sent us a message with Morse code. He blinked it. The message was 'Ellsbury'." Peter concluded, hope growing inside him.

"I see. And your sure he wasn't just blinking?"

"What are the chances he would happen to blink in a sequence that, in Morse code, spelled out the name of the hotel we suspected?" Peter asked, annoyance creeping into his tone and posture.

"Not a lot. But honestly, Peter, that is too flimsy to be considered probable cause. I'm sorry, Peter. Come back when you have more evidence." The judge said, truly sorry he couldn't help his friend.

"But Ted, you don't understand. The next piece of evidence could be Neal's body for all we know! I _need_ a warrant now. _Please_, Ted."

Judge Bridges wanted ever-so-much to help his old friend, but he knew that giving a warrant under false pretences was career suicide.

"I'm sorry, Peter. I just can't."

Peter stormed out of the room. He wanted to be angry with Ted, but he knew he was only doing his job. He had to get more evidence. There was only one person who could help him now. He took out his phone and dialed. After several rings, they picked up.

"Yes?" the voice answered, sounding suspicious.

"Mozzie, it's Peter."

…

When Neal awoke, he was still lying on his stomach. The most recent cut on his back was stinging slightly, but that wasn't the least of his worries.

The bruises on his stomach, which had once been a vibrant array of blue and purple, were now fading into a sickly yellow color. They ached when he moved, as did the back of his head. The dull throb from yesterday had turned into a vicious pounding overnight. It felt as if his brain had a heart beat.

Neal sat up more, looking at the wall next to him. The plaster was chipped and dented inward to where the bullet was lodged. Even though it wasn't a gun, Neal still didn't like that it was there. The bullet was technically the worst part of the gun. _It_ was the part that tore through your flesh. The part that ended lives as quickly as they began. The gun itself was only the propellant.

Neal shivered suddenly, reminding himself of the ever-dropping temperature of the room. It was obvious his father didn't give him the courtesy of turning the thermostat up. He had given him one courtesy, though. The bathroom door was kept open. That was good. It was difficult maneuvering the sink handles with his restrained hands, but he had managed. He had only needed it twice. Once slightly after he first arrived, and once to throw up. That was the first night. Claustrophobia had set in after the long ride in a car trunk. The window in the bathroom had been blocked by a metal plate, cleverly locked by his father. There really was no way to get out. All other doors had been shut and locked from the outside. How his father managed to find a hotel with doors like that, he would never know.

Neal was growing worried about one other thing as well. He hadn't eaten in quite awhile. Last night his stomach had been emitting a roaring growl of hunger, but today it was gone. The only thing left was a slight ache. It was as if his stomach had gone numb from hunger. His throat was still dry, he had to talk to himself once in awhile just to make sure it still worked. He went to say something, when suddenly a coughing fit enveloped him. He was thrown onto his hands and knees, coughing and gagging for several minutes straight. When the coughing finally subsided, he pushed himself up, gasping for much-needed oxygen.

He looked at the clock on the bedside table. 10:00am. He was almost beginning to doubt Peter was looking for him. The last time he was kidnapped (used for ransome when a young girl was also taken), Peter found him right away. But now, he didn't even know how long it had been, but the point was that Peter wasn't here.

Neal leaned against the wall, avoiding the bullet at all costs, and fell into a restless sleep.

…

"Suit… How'd you know I was here? Are you tracking me?" Mozzie asked, regarding the fact that Peter had called Neal's landline.

"You're always there, it was just a lucky guess."

"Touché. Now let me guess, you calling has something to do with Neal's sudden disappearance?"

"Yeah, Neal was kidnapped a few days ago and I need your help."

"Kidnapped? Why am I never told these things?" Neal asked, instantly concerned.

"Well if you could be reached like a normal person, maybe we would." Peter countered, hoping Mozzie would hurry up and come help.

"Touché again, suit. I'll be there in ten." He said before hanging up.

Peter assumed Mozzie meant his house, so he got in his car and headed home.

…

When Peter arrived, Mozzie was already there, seated next to Elizabeth on the couch. Satchmo was sitting protectively at El's heals. He'd always been weary of Mozzie. That dog was certainly a good judge of character.

"Any luck?" El asked hopefully, regarding his visit to the judge.

"No, he said it still wasn't probable cause. He said I needed more." Peter said, his voice slightly angry. "Did you update Mozzie on the situation?" he asked, assuming that's what they had been discussing.

"Yeah, I told him." El said sullenly.

"Good. Can you help?" he asked Mozzie.

"Yes, I have an idea." Mozzie said, eager to help his friend.

"Good, explain. We have little to work with. Hughes won't help unless we can get a warrant, so for now its us and Jones."

"What about Cruz or Diana?" El asked, remembering the other agents.

"They aren't updated enough, it'll only waist time to get them involved. We'll have to keep it between us. I'll call Jones and have him come over." He said.

When Jones arrived ten minutes later, Mozzie explained his plan.

…

Neal awoke suddenly, a scream caught in his throat. He could feel himself perspiring, and his heart was beating profusely. When he looked around, he remembered quickly where he was. The clock on the bedside table said 2:00. He briefly wondered where his father was. It always seemed that he would show up for the making of the video, then leave directly after.  
_Probably with another woman._ Neal thought bitterly.

He'd never had a good relationship with his mother, but ever since she died, his father got with every woman that crossed his path. What bothered him about it wasn't the fact that he'd gotten over his mom's death so quickly, because Neal had too, but rather the woman he chose. Neal could remember each step mother vividly. Some were abusive like his father, others didn't give two shits. There was one who tried to help, but his father caught wind of it and had her deported (she was originally from France and was living here on an expired Visa). And then the chain continued. It had been that way right up until the day he left.

Neal's mind suddenly switched over to that day. The day his father got up and walked out. Never turning back. Never bothering to make any sort of contact with Neal to make sure he was alive. Not until now, that is. And boy, what a comeback this was. Kidnapping, repeated assault, and attempted murder (shooting the gun at him was close enough). All for revenge against the man he trusted most.

Neal wondered how Peter was reacting. He wanted to believe he was panicked, doing whatever he could to find him. But then again, Peter had once said that Neal being injured was nothing more than the burden of more paperwork. Maybe he was enjoying the time off.

Neal tried to push that thought out of his mind. He knew Peter was looking for him. He was sure of it. He hoped Peter had noticed both of his hints.

…

"So what you're saying is that we should interrupt Neal's dad _while_ he's making the video?" Peter asked, perplexed.

"Yes, he'll be so focused on Neal he won't have time to react." Mozzie said. "Then you guys can get him. Catch him in the act."

"Two problems." Peter said. "One, we don't have reason to enter the room, so we can't arrest him. Only get Neal. And then who knows if his dad will come back? Two, we don't know what room Neal's in. We can't go busting down doors until we find him!"

"If you don't have a reason, forge one! Make papers that claim the tenant has drugs or something. Be creative." Mozzie said. "And in regards to your other point, Neal's father always stays in the presidential suite."

"You're sure of that?"

"Positive." Mozzie replied.

Peter paused, remembering the first part of Mozzie's plan.

"Are you asking a federal agent to _forge_ legal documents?" Peter asked, knowing he'd get away with it but still wanting to stick to the judicial system.

"Do it for Neal."

Those four words summed up all the reason in the world for Peter. He would break the law if it meant getting Neal to safety and James Caffrey behind bars.

"Alright. But we need to move fast if we want to get this done tonight. Jones, I need you to print up a false witness statement. Make it say that someone saw drugs being dealt out of the Ellsbury presidential suite. Then get a warrant. Mozzie, pack a bag for Neal and bring it here. If- _when_ we get him out, there's no way he's staying by himself yet."

El looked at her husband approvingly. She didn't want Neal staying anywhere but their guestroom for at least the first night or two.

"What do you want _me_ to do, honey?" El asked.

Peter smiled, and Elizabeth instantly understood her job.

"Comfort food, got it."

Peter watched as everyone dispersed to begin their tasks. Hope was once again rising inside him. Nothing could go wrong tonight. He had to give James Caffrey something to remember before he could harm Neal any further.

…

At 6:30, everyone gathered once again at the Burke residence. Jones had gotten the warrant, Mozzie a suitcase, and El was in the midst of cooking a fabulous meal. Their plan was in motion. Peter decided that he and Jones would leave at 7:30, on account that the Ellsbury wasn't very far away. They would monitor tonight's video via Peter's smart phone, and when they knew James was preoccupied, they'd gladly interrupt.

Peter was running purely on adrenaline. Everything had to be perfectly executed if they planned on getting Neal home safely. And Peter definitely planned on that. He prayed Neal could make it. He had no idea what his father did to him between filming. He shuddered at the thought.

…

Neal was shaken awake at 7:00 by his father. He could smell the odor of alcohol radiating from his father's mouth. He didn't appear incoherently drunk, but rather violently drunk. When his father was like that, he was still completely alert, as if he'd never had a sip of alcohol, but he was ten times as violent. Luck for Neal.

Neal's father hoisted him up, pinning him against the wall.

"I've been _much_ to easy on you, boy. It's time you learn what life's _really_ like."

Suddenly James punched Neal in the gut, causing him to double over on the ground. While he was down, he received several hard kicks, including one to his already aching head. Neal tried his best to shield himself, but of course, the handcuffs got in the way profusely. As Neal tried to scramble away, his hands somehow made its way into the path of his father's foot. When the sole of the Italian leather shoe struck Neal's hand, a loud cracking sound emanated from two of the fingers on his right hand. Neal cried out in pain, snatching his hand away. James laughed when he realized what had happened, and suddenly left the room, leaving Neal to cradle his partially broken hand in his lap. He could already see the knuckles of those fingers swelling, adding to his many injuries.

"Peter, please help." He said aloud. He stared into space, his thoughts consuming him. If only he realized that at that moment, Peter was pulling up outside the Ellsbury.

A/N: I had no school today, yet again, so I spent awhile just writing. It feels good to just sit down and write continuously for a change, rather than bits and pieces through-out a several day period. I hope this chapter was satisfying, even if it was just a long sequence of explanations and plans, interrupted occasionally with updates on Neal's condition. Please review! I hope to update the next chapter by Saturday or Sunday. There won't be much time for me to write tomorrow, so lets all hope the weekend brings writing time. I'm really enjoying this story, and your loyalty and dedication to following it has made me exceptionally grateful. Thank you again, and please review.

**-AgentDiNozzo13**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: The chapter you've probably all been waiting for. Will Neal be rescued? Will the Peter-comfort time finally be here? You'll have to read and see…**

Peter sat unbuckled in the Taurus, Jones seated next to him. They were both staring intently at the smart-phone in Peter's hand. At exactly 8:00, the third video began.

James Caffrey, without his usual introduction, walked over to his son, who was, as always, in the corner. Without a word, James grabbed his son's quivering shoulders, pulling him onto his feet. James' eyes, rather than taunting or arrogant, were dark and spiteful. His usual wolfish smile was set into a deep frown. It was all sending a message: This isn't a game anymore. Neal, as expected, made no move to fight back. Peter cursed inwardly at his partner's lack of self-preservation.

"When should we go in?" Jones asked, momentarily distracting Peter from the screen.

"Not right away. We have to be sure he's not going to be paying attention. We can't risk him doing anything drastic." Peter said; although he wished they could rush in right away. He couldn't bare the thought of Neal being hurt any further.

He looked back at the phone just in time to see James repeatedly slamming Neal's head against the wall.

"Does that count as not paying attention?" Jones asked.

Peter didn't bother answering, but rather he grabbed his gun and jumped out of the car, still clutching his phone. Jones followed closely behind.

…

After Neal had been hoisted up, his father's rage took over and he began slamming Neal's head against the wall, his fingers interlaced in Neal's curly brown hair. Neal tried to struggle, but his back was pinned against the wall, and his still-cuffed hands were hanging uselessly at his torso, unable to move. After several seconds, a black fog crept into Neal's line of vision. The image of his father's face became blurry and disfigured. After about a minute, Neal's groans of pain grew inaudible. Just as he was about to fall into a pleasant state of unconsciousness, he felt his father's body forcefully pulled from his.

…

Peter and Jones flashed their badges and warrant to the hotel receptionist as briefly as possible before running to the staircase. They had no time to deal with the constant stops of an elevator. And with his and Jones' FBI training, they ran faster than the elevator anyway.

They climbed endless flights of stairs in seconds, stopping at the door to the presidential suite. Peter paused momentarily, pressing his ear to the door. When he heard the tell-tail banging that signified Neal's head brutally contacting plaster, he gave Jones the cue and they kicked down the door, guns drawn.

Peter ran directly over to the father and son duo, ripping them apart. Before James was able to react, Peter slammed him against the other wall. He pressed his arm into the man's throat, pressing harder each time the man attempted to take in oxygen.

"You pathetic son of a bitch!" Peter yelled into the man's face. "You would _actually_ kidnap your son for your own childish revenge. How can you even call yourself a _father_?"

Before he could continue, Jones pulled Peter off of James.

"Go check on Caffrey. I got him." Jones said bitterly, staring daggers at Neal's father as he restrained him. Peter gave James one last disgusted stare before running over to his partner. The young man had crumpled to the floor the second he was released from his father's grip. He had since rolled on his back, fighting consciousness. The first thing Peter did when he reached Neal was remove the handcuffs with a pair of tweezers he'd brought. After Neal could move his hands freely again, he subconsciously used one to cradle his head.

"Hey, Neal, can you hear me? Neal?" Peter called out to the young consultant, trying to keep him conscious as long as possible.

"P'tr…" Neal mumbled, his voice quiet and somewhat slurred.

"Yeah, it's me, Neal. Stay with me. Just stay with me, Neal."

Peter looked over at Jones to confirm he had cuffed James. When he was sure he had, Peter picked Neal up the way you would a child; his head hanging over one arm and his legs over the other. Neal was surprisingly light, his lanky frame made up of nothing more than bone and muscle. There wasn't an ounce of body fat on him. Since they couldn't have called an ambulance unless they were sure this plan was going to work, Peter would have to carry Neal to the car and drive him to a hospital himself.

Peter got into an elevator, still carrying Neal, and Jones took James down the staircase. He talked continuously to Neal, who was barely alert.

When the elevator reached the lobby floor, Peter's arms were aching slightly. Even if Neal was incredibly light, it still didn't feel too good to carry him for this long. He quickly made it to the car outside, ignoring the reactions of people in the hotel. Jones was already there, about to hail a taxi to bring James to the bureau. He couldn't take him in the same car as Neal.

Peter opened the back door of the Taurus awkwardly, and slid Neal inside, not daring to sit him upright. Before he had a chance to shut the door, James called out, "Neal!"

Neal lifted his head up slightly, craning his neck as much as possible to see who was calling him. His eyes were slits, trying to match a face to the voice.

"You let me down, Neal." James Caffrey said.

As soon as the words came out of his mouth, Peter whirled on his heels and punched James right across the jaw, causing him to stagger against Jones' grip. When he regained composure and stood upright again, he smiled wickedly, blood now staining half of his pearly-white teeth.

Jones almost smiled before leading James away to get a cab. Peter shut the door gently and walked around the perimeter of the car, getting in the driver's seat. He wanted to get Neal to a hospital quickly, but he knew reckless driving was the least Neal needed.

…

Peter paced back and forth in the waiting room. When he'd run into the ER roughly an hour ago, out of breath and carrying a shirtless, unconscious man, the nurses had been terrified and panicked. They'd whisked Neal away on a gurney, and he hadn't seen him since.

A young nurse, probably a college intern, came into the small room, carrying a clipboard.

"Family of Neal Caffrey?" she said aloud, scanning the room.

Peter, without any hesitation, held up his hand and walked over to the woman.

"Are you his brother?" the nurse guessed, realizing the man was too young to be his father.

"No, I'm with the FBI. He's my partner." He explained, hoping they would still give him the information.

"Oh ok, well Mr. Caffrey seemed to have taken quite a beating. He has two broken fingers, a broken rib, a fractured wrist, numerous bruises and abrasions, and a pretty bad concussion."

At the panicked look Peter gave her, she added, "Nothing too serious though. All major organs are intact and we've splinted his fingers. We are going to prescribe painkillers to help with his head, but he should be able to leave tomorrow morning."

Peter breathed a sigh of relief.

"When can I see him?" Peter asked.

"He's asleep now but you can gladly wait in there for him to wake up. It's always good to have a familiar face." She said, smiling.

Peter nodded and headed to the room she said Neal was moved to. It was a normal hospital room, complete with bleach-white walls and crisp white sheets. A heart monitor beeped steadily in the corner, making the only noise in the entire room. Peter looked down at his partner. He was sleeping peacefully, his face free of any pain or fear. He looked like a small child.

Peter sat in the chair next to the bed, watching Neal sleep. He was determined to stay awake until Neal came-to, but his eyelids began to droop heavily, all adrenaline drained from his body. Soon he was fast asleep.

…

At roughly 7:00 in the morning, Peter awoke to an erratic heart monitor. He looked over at Neal and saw his eyes open, pupils flicking suspiciously to every aspect of the room. It was at that moment that he laid his eyes on Peter. In an instant the younger man calmed down, his monitor returning to normal.

"Morning." Peter said to the man, hoping he was willing to speak.

"Peter?" Neal asked, his voice raspy until he cleared his throat.

"Yeah, it's me."

"Why am I in a hospital?" Neal asked, obviously knowing the reason but simply not wanting to be there.

"Because you're hurt, Neal. But don't worry. The doctor said you can go home today." Peter said, chuckling slightly.

"Are you bringing me back to Junes?" he asked, hopefully.

"Not just yet. You're staying with me and Elizabeth for a few days until you're okay to be left alone. The doctor gave us some painkillers for you to take, for your head."

Neal groaned. He didn't like taking painkillers. They made him disoriented sometimes. Plus they left him open and exposed. Drugs don't exactly help keep your emotions at bay.

"I don't wanna hear any protest. You're coming home with me and you're taking the pills. That's final." Peter said, but made sure to keep his tone less demanding than usual. He didn't want Neal afraid to go home with him.

"Can I go _now_?" Neal asked, eager to leave the hospital.

"In a little while. You should get some rest. El brought over a change of clothes to go home in. I'll sign you out later."

"I don't _want_ to rest, Peter, I want to _leave_." Neal said, dead-serious.

Peter looked at Neal for a moment, searching him for any show of emotion. He couldn't tell if Neal were afraid of the hospital, or simply wanted to be in a more familiar place. For some reason he felt like the first option was more likely.

"Alright, alright. I'll go sign you out, once the nurse unhooks you from everything you're change of clothes is in this bag." He said, motioning to the small black duffle bag on the floor. "Don't hurt yourself."

Neal nodded, throwing a look at Peter for the comment about hurting himself. He wasn't a fragile, dying man. He was fully capable of getting dressed uneventfully.

…

After the nurse unhooked Neal from the heart monitor, I.V., and countless other hospital contraptions, he managed to get dressed himself. It took slightly longer than usual, due to his arising dizziness, but he got through the task without a scratch.

The clothes Elizabeth had brought contained several options. There had been a pair of sweatpants, jeans, a v-neck t-shirt, a dark green button-up shirt, and a medium-blue button-up shirt. Underneath it all was a black turtle neck and khaki slacks, just in case Neal didn't want to dress-down. Which he didn't. He took out the nicer clothes, along with a pair of boxers and socks, and changed in the small bathroom. He'd done the best job he could at fixing his hair, not allowing it to be messy under any circumstances.

Now he was sitting on the edge of his hospital bed, bag at his side, waiting for Peter. When the agent walked into the room, he was shocked at how ready Neal was to leave.

"Let's go." Neal said, grabbing the bag and standing up quickly, a little _too_ quickly. Dizziness washed over him and he practically fell into Peter, the older man grabbing his shoulders and trying to support him as he regained his balance.

"You sure you're okay to leave?" Peter asked once his friend's eyes were back in focus.

"Yes, Peter. Let's go." Neal said, not in the mood for Peter's concern. He hated hospitals. He wanted to leave. Now.

Peter noticed his friend's pale complexion, and said, "Easy, kid. The car's parked outside. Take a breath."

Neal ignored Peter's instruction and pushed past him, careful not to walk too fast. Peter followed, keeping the gap between them small in case Neal got dizzy again.

…

The car ride home was dead silent. Neal spent the entire time with his eyes closed, cradling his head in his hands. Occasionally if a sharp turn or abrupt halt made him dizzy, he'd place his head between his knees until the nausea subsided.

When they finally pulled up in front of the Burke house, Neal seemed apprehensive.

"You okay?" Peter asked before opening his door.

Neal's head snapped up as if he'd been deep in thought. His demeanor instantly changed and he gave a lightly Caffrey-smile and said, "Yeah, never better." Then he got out of the car and walked towards the front door, not giving Peter a chance to question him further.

They were greeted at the door by a smiling Elizabeth and an over-joyed Satchmo. Neal bent down to pet Satchmo, and when he stood he hesitated, almost unsure of what to do next.

Elizabeth helped him make the decision when she took his bag and offered him a seat on the couch. He gratefully accepted, realizing how tired he really was. He'd lied when he told Peter he didn't want rest. He just wanted to be out of the hospital.

Peter ushered El into the kitchen when he knew Neal was settled.

"How's he doing?" El asked in a hushed tone so Neal wouldn't hear from the other room.

"I don't know." Peter answered, matching his wife's tone. "He hasn't really talked to me yet. But you should've seen him in the hospital earlier. He was white as a sheet!"

"Well it's natural for people to be uncomfortable in hospitals, right?" El asked.

"Yeah, I guess, but I don't think it was only the hospital. I don't know. He just seems off."

"Well he was just held hostage for three days by his father, wouldn't you be a little off kilter, too?" she countered.

She did make sense. Neal had been through one hell of a trauma, probably not the first too.

"I just don't know how to make him open up to me. I know he won't do it voluntarily."

"Just give it some time. Let him settle in first. So it's not so fresh. Maybe bring it up tonight or tomorrow. He'll talk when he's ready."

"El, it's Neal we're talking about. He _never_ talks to me about what he's feeling. And I have a feeling he's not gonna start now."

"Then _you_ be the one to bring it up. He can't run from you with that horrible concussion. He looked dizzy just bending down. I'm sure you'll get something out of him. And don't rest until you do." She said, giving him a mock-hard-stare. Peter smiled and kissed his wife on the forehead before putting on a cup of coffee.

"I'm gonna go pick up Neal's painkiller prescription down the street. Watch him for me?"

El smiled and gave him an approving nod before giving her husband a playful push on the arm.

"He'll be fine. You go."

"Love you." Peter said before leaving the room.

"Love you too." Elizabeth returned.

…

When Peter returned to his house, he was greeted by a scared-looking El. She put a finger to her lips signaling him to be quiet, and pointed to the couch. Peter quietly took a step forward, avoiding the squeaky floor board, and leaned over to look at his partner. He had switched to a lying down position shortly after Peter had left. Now he was twisting and turning, mumbling to himself in his sleep. His eyebrows were scrunched together, and his breath came out in ragged gasps.

Peter walked over to Neal, laying a hand on his friend's shoulder. Neal bolted upright, his eyes panicked.

"STO-" Neal started to yell, before realizing it was only Peter. He instantly looked embarrassed, focusing his vision to his hands; which were lying in his lap.

"It's ok, Neal." Peter said, taking in the man's slight trembling and pale complexion.

"Sorry, Peter…"

Suddenly Neal stood and pushed past them, stopping at the banister that headed upstairs. He clutched the railing for a second before pushing the dizziness away.

"I'm going upstairs for awhile." He said as he went up to the guestroom.

El looked over at Peter pleadingly after she heard the guest room door shut.

"I know." He said, knowing how bad of shape his partner was in. "I'll talk to him later. Just let him sleep awhile."

El nodded and went to start dinner.

**A/N: Neal is safe. But now, will he open up to Peter? What will be uncovered about Neal's past that even **_**you**__**out there reading**_** don't know? And most importantly, at least in my opinion, will Neal break down in front of Peter and accept comfort, or push him away? Stay tuned to find out this and more in the next chapter of I Didn't Let You Down.**

**Haha okay my mini voice-over career is complete. Back to normal now. Please review, as always. They really are quite insightful. I would love to hear what you out there are looking for as far as memories, actions by Neal, or actions by Peter/Elizabeth. I try to please my readers along with myself. Please make requests and if I, too, like the idea I'll try adding it in!**

**-AgentDiNozzo13**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: I enjoy all the ideas you have left me, several were similar to my previous plans for this chapter so I think you'll all be happy with what's here. At least I hope you will; remember to leave any constructive criticism as well, I always appreciate advice on ways to improve my writing. **

**Oh by the way: TUESDAY NIGHT ON WHITE COLLAR THEY SAID NEALS DAD WAS A DIRTY COP AND THE WHOLE EPISODE GAVE AWAY HINTS AND IT WAS SO SAD! I think there's still more to the story, and I really hope they explain further about how much it affected Neal and the whole gun thing. But I'm still happy!**

**Well enough with my rambling, on to the story.**

At 6:00 Elizabeth was finished cooking her famous meatballs and Farfalle pasta. She set the steaming pot of sauce and meatballs onto the dining room table, parallel to the serving dish of pasta. Three places were set, two for she and Peter, and one for Neal.

Peter went upstairs and knocked lightly on the door of Neal's guestroom.

"Come in." Neal called back; it sounded muffled.

Peter opened the door and saw Neal lying on his side on the bed, drawing meticulously in his sketchpad. Peter walked over to the man and looked at the drawing. It was beautifully-drawn charcoal sketch of Satchmo. Peter looked over at the rug in the center of the room and saw said-dog in the exact same position Neal's picture portrayed.

"That's good." Peter said, trying to keep things normal. The last thing he needed was Neal thinking their relationship had changed. Neal hated sympathy.

"Thanks." Neal said before snapping the notebook shut. "Did you need something?"

"El made dinner."

"I'm not really that hungry." Neal said, about to return to his sketching.

"I don't give a damn whether you're hungry or not, you're coming downstairs. If you won't do it for _me_, do it for El. She's been cooking for hours."

Neal let out an exaggerated sigh and set the sketchbook on the bedside table. When he stood up, he swayed slightly, black dots making their way into his vision. Neal quickly blew off Peter's look of concern and walked past him, heading downstairs. Peter hesitated at first, but then followed.

"Afternoon, Neal." Elizabeth said brightly when the con came into view on the staircase.

"Elizabeth." Neal said back, flashing her the usual Caffrey-smile. He and Peter both sat down, allowing El to serve them. Peter took a bottle of wine and filled the three glasses; his wife's first, followed by his and Neal's.

"Thanks." Neal said and took a sip, always grateful for an opportunity to get a drink of Elizabeth's wine. She had excellent taste.

The Burkes' began to eat their dinner, savoring the delicious Italian cuisine. Peter glanced over at Neal's plate, which was still completely full. Neal sat staring into the heap of pasta, subconsciously flipping random pieces over with his fork.

"You don't like it?" Peter asked, eying Neal's plate. Neal's head snapped up, realizing he was being spoken to.

"What? Oh, no, it's great!" he said, smiling widely.

"You haven't touched it." Peter returned.

"Umm, I'm just not that hungry, sorry Elizabeth." He said, smiling apologetically.

"That's alright, dear. Maybe you should lie down." Elizabeth said, concerned.

"No, no, I'm alright. But, can I be excused?" he asked casually.

"Of course." Elizabeth said kindly, her maternal instincts still telling her that something was wrong.

"Thanks." Neal said as he got up from the table and headed for the back door.

"Where ya goin?" Peter called after him.

"Just getting some fresh air. Don't worry, I'm not gonna run." Neal called back. Peter often verbalized his lack of trust in him. Usually he didn't mind, but at the moment it hurt significantly.

Peter watched the younger man's retreating back until he was sure he heard the porch door close.

"Maybe you should talk to him _now_." El suggested, her face still clenched with concern.

"I thought you said I should wait awhile." Peter countered. He honestly was just procrastinating. He knew Neal needed to talk, but he was not much of an emotional guy. That's why he left the role of comforter to El the majority of the time.

"I did. But look at him! He's so… distant. He needs someone to talk to. If not now, then later tonight. But you can't wait forever." She said, giving Peter a look that said 'I know you're trying to stall'.

"Yeah, I know. I'm just not good with, ya know, talking. And _crying_. Think about it. What if he starts to cry? I can't handle that! I can barely handle a woman crying, let alone _Neal_!" Peter said, exasperated. The thought of Neal crying perplexed him. He'd almost forgotten it was a physical possibility with the younger man.

"Honey, if he cries, let him! He deserves it after all he's been through. And whatever you do, do NOT tell him to cowboy up."

Peter smiled at his wife's ability to foresee the future. That _had_ been one of his options, but El was right; he was in no position to tell Neal to cowboy up. The man went through a serious trauma and obviously had a lot of old memories surfacing. What he needed was some one to lean on. And something gave Peter the idea that Neal had never really had someone like that; except Mozzie of course. But Mozzie never seemed like much of a paternal figure or sibling, rather a weird uncle or distant cousin. Someone who you knew was there for you, but there was always that nagging doubt in the back of your mind that questioned their intent.

"Alright, I'll try talking to him now. But if he cuts his anklet and runs, it's on you!" Peter said playfully, giving El peck on the lips before heading out the back door.

…

Neal sat at the patio table, ignoring the ever-dropping temperature. His back faced the house, so he didn't notice when Peter came out to join him. When Peter walked into Neal's peripheral vision, the younger man jumped slightly. He hoped Peter hadn't noticed. He watched the agent as he sat in the chair directly across from him.

There was a long moment of silence between the two men. When Peter was about to give up hope on letting Neal start the conversation, the con opened his mouth.

"Ya know, Peter, I'm not a little kid. You don't have to follow me everywhere I go." His voice wasn't harsh, but still held a slight edge.

"Yeah I know that." He paused momentarily before adding, "El sent me."

Neal didn't show the sliver of sadness he felt when Peter said that. Although he was annoyed at Peter for following him outside, he still appreciated the fact that he'd cared enough to make sure he was okay. But now that appreciation had diminished with the mention of El requesting his presence.

Neal gave a light chuckle. "Was she hoping for some kind of intervention?"

Peter laughed as well, noticing the awkward tone the conversation had taken on.

"I don't think so. Just a small confrontation will do."

Neal grew suspicious.

"About what?"

Peter looked over the table at Neal, trying his best not to shout out, "DUH!" Instead he leaned over the table, minimizing the gap between him and Neal. He didn't miss when Neal edged back in his seat.

"Look, Neal, you won't say it, you won't show it; but I _know_ the last few days affected you. And I _know_ you've been thinking an awful lot about your father. I just wanna say that you're not alone. You can talk to me. You realize that, don't you?"

Neal was silent, looking down at his hands. Once Peter sighed and leaned back in his chair, Neal looked up.

"I know, Peter. But honestly, I'm fine. I'm gonna go lie down."

And with that Neal stood, pushing his chair in, and walked back into the house. Peter waited several seconds before rushing in after Neal, calling out, "Wait, Neal."

Neal turned around hesitantly, making no move to respond.

"You're forgetting something." Peter said with a smile, holding up a bottle of pain killers.

"Peter, I am _not_ taking those." Neal said, stressing the word 'not'.

"Neal, you _need_ to take these. You get dizzy just by standing up!" Peter countered.

Elizabeth stood from the dining room table and entered the kitchen, where her husband and his partner stood in a Mexican stand-off fashion.

"What's going on?" she asked, more towards Peter than Neal.

"El, please tell him he needs to take his meds." Peter said.

"Elizabeth, please tell Peter I don't need to." Neal said, not turning to face her when he spoke. Instead he continued to stare daggers at Peter.

Elizabeth walked around to the side of Neal. "I'm sorry, Neal, but I'm with my husband on this. You need to take the pills."

Neal looked over at Elizabeth, awed by her betrayal.

"Honey, please? Just take one. You don't have to take a whole dosage." El negotiated.

Neal looked between the two, feeling as if he were _actually_ the subject of an intervention. All they needed now was a therapist saying, 'we're only trying to help'.

"Peter, you know how I get with meds." Neal said to Peter, recalling the time he was 'calmed down' in Doctor Powell's office. The injection _was_ meant to slow his thought process, but his body's odd medication-tolerance caused him to get semi-deranged; deranged to the point of singing 50's music and accidently revealing past crimes involving manuscripts and carrier pigeons. Luckily Peter couldn't arrest him for it on account of Neal being 'under the influence' at the time. It was deemed circumstantial.

"Yeah, I do. I'm not looking forward to experiencing that again, either, which is why you're only taking one."

Neal sighed in defeat. "Fine. But only _one_."

"Deal." Peter said with a small smile. He popped open the orange prescription container and poured a pill out into his hand, handing it over to Neal. Neal took it skeptically, practically holding it at arm's length.

"It's not gonna bite you." Peter said mockingly as his partner dry-swallowed the pill.

El cringed and said, "That's not good for you're throat, honey."

Neal shrugged nonchalantly and said, "It's what my dad always made me do."

With the mention of his dad Neal stiffened, weaving his way out of the room before he could be questioned further. When Peter was sure Neal was upstairs, he turned to his wife.

"Don't worry, I'll talk to him tomorrow. He's tired."

El smiled. "I know he is. At least you got him to take half his pills."

Peter's smile faded slightly. "About that… He sort of took the entire dosage…"

"What? I thought he was supposed to take two."  
"Yeah, um, he was only supposed to take one originally."

El looked like she was about to scold him, but stopped. "I guess it's for the better."

Peter smiled and embraced his wife before heading back to the dinner table to finish his now-cold meal.

**A/N: Not much comfort yet, but not to worry, it's coming! **

**Ok now for the BIG question. I was going to make it a poll but decided to just have you leave your choice in a review. It's easier. **

**How do you want the pill to affect Neal? Do you want him to get loopy, semi-loopy, just make the pain lessen, get open and more exposed, be raw and unable to hide his emotions, or other? Please explain because personally I could go either way. I'm fine with writing a loopy Neal, and also fine with a raw Neal. It's all up to you.**

**Thank you again and please review!**

**-AgentDiNozzo13**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: I have taken all your opinions into consideration and I hope you will enjoy this chapter. Neal will be loopy and loose-lipped, but Peter won't confront him about things he said until he's more sober. It wouldn't be fair to take advantage of a drugged Neal. And just a little warning, this chapter contains references to child abuse and possible slight mentions of sexual abuse. Nothing graphic or obscene, but I felt obliged to warn you. Just a warning.**

**And if you don't recognize the song I used, it's Hold On I'm Comin by Sam and Dave. One of my favorite older songs. And it was, much to my excitement, used in the pilot episode of white collar!**

Peter was sitting on his living room couch, engrossed in a basketball game on TV. El was in the kitchen doing dishes. Satchmo was sleeping at Peter's feet. All was peaceful in the Burke house.

"HOOLLLDDDD ONNNN, 'CUZ I'M COMINNN!"

Peter nearly jumped out of his seat, scaring Satchmo. He instantly realized where the sound was coming from. Elizabeth ran into the living room, her hands covered in yellow rubber gloves, a dripping plate in her hand.

"What on earth was that?" she asked her husband, her eyes wide with confusion and worry.

"That's just Neal. It's starting already." Peter said, groaning slightly as his stiff bones popped when he got off the couch. He'd been sitting there for longer than he'd thought. "I'll go check on him."

El stifled a laugh when the con upstairs belted out another lyric.

"HOOLLLDDDD ONNNN, I'M COMINNN!"

Peter sighed and headed up the stairs. When he was outside of Neal's door, he didn't bother knocking. He opened the door slightly at first, peering in at his partner. The man was laying on his back on the bed, on top of all the covers, one hand resting on his abdomen. His other hand was hanging limply off the bed. Neal's head was bobbing from side to side slightly, and his eyes were closed.

"Neal?" Peter said, opening the door wider.

Neal's eyes snapped open and a huge grin spread across his face.

"Hi!" Neal called out, awkwardly sitting up so he could lean against the head board.

"Neal, you're gonna have to be a little quieter, the neighbors will hear you." Peter said. He felt like he was talking to a child. That feeling only greatened when Neal's face fell and he replied,

"Are you mad at me?"

Peter sighed heavily, running a hand down his face.

"No, Neal, I'm not mad at you. Just stay a little quieter this time. Okay?"

Neal gave him a blank stare, making no indication he'd understood Peter.

Peter turned to leave the room.

"Peter!" Neal called out. Peter turned around to face the man again.

"Yes, Neal?"

"What?" Neal responded after a pause. Normally Peter would think the man was simply trying to irritate him, but at the moment Neal seemed to honestly not know why Peter had turned around.

"You just called my name."

"I did?" Neal asked, his face scrunching up in confusion. Peter could hear the slight slur in Neal's words.

"Yes, Neal, you did. I'm going to go downstairs now, okay?" Peter said slowly, hoping Neal would understand.

"Peter, wait!" Neal called just as Peter's back was turned. Peter did a complete 360 degree turn to face Neal again, growing more and more aggravated by the second.

"_Yes_, Neal?"

Neal paused for a moment, his eyes glazing over. After an intense moment of thought, Neal simply shrugged his shoulders and began to sing under his breath.

Peter sighed and left the room, practically slamming the door behind him.

…

Peter was on his couch again, enjoying the peace and quiet. He assumed Neal had fallen asleep again.

"P'tr… did you know you got a safe up there?" he heard from behind him.

Peter turned around to see Neal standing at the bottom of the staircase, his face containing a look of amazement and confusion blended together.

"Neal… Did you open it?" Peter asked. In the back of his mind he wondered how the currently uncoordinated and drugged man had gotten down the stairs so quietly.

"Peter, I'm hurt! I would never steal from you!" Neal said, the slur in his voice causing all his words to mesh together. His voice resembled a toddler's.

Peter stood and crossed the living room. When Neal released his grip on the banister, Peter instantly grabbed his arm to keep him from falling over. He led Neal over to the couch, where the younger man practically fell into it.

"Neal, are you alright?" Peter asked nervously, crouching down on his knees so he was eye-to-eye with the con man. Not that it would help Neal's comprehension anyway. The man was completely incoherent.

"Pshhhh Peter, I'm fine…" he said, making an attempt to stand. Peter stood up instantly, catching the man as he staggered forward.

"Neal, I think you should lay down and rest." Peter said, helping Neal into a sitting position on the couch again.

"Nooo Peter, I don't need rest!" he said, almost irritated, "I need to save Neal!"

Peter looked at him, having no idea what he was talking about.

"What do you mean, Neal, you're right here…"

"Nooo," Neal said matter-of-factly. "He's with his dad!" he looked at Peter as if he were the stupidest man in the world.

Peter realized that it would get him nowhere to argue with him. Instead he tried to play it out and see where it was going.

"Why is Neal with his dad?" Peter asked slowly, noticing when the man's demeanor slightly changed. His eyes were looking everywhere but Peter's, and he talked with total nonchalance.

"'Cuz he was bad."

"When was Neal bad?" Peter asked, feeling awkward talking about Neal in the third-person fashion.

"When he was younger." Neal said, his eyes peering down at his hands.

"What did he do that was so bad?" Peter asked, feeling a hint of remorse for taking advantage of Neal's drug-induced state.

"He made his father angry." Neal stated. Peter sighed and asked one last question.

"Look at me. Come on, look at me."

Neal's eyes shifted slightly to meet Peter's. They had the faintest sheen of tears.

"Did Neal's father ever hurt him when Neal was bad?"

Neal's answer was barely a whisper.

"Yeah… He hurt him a lot… B-But he deserved it, ya know?" Neal's voice grew, internally bullying himself now. Convincing himself that it was his own fault. "He was always screwing up! At all the dinner parties and the events, he made a fool out of his father! He was always…"

Peter cringed when Neal finished.

"… letting him down."

"Neal, look at me." He said. When Neal faced Peter, his face distraught and confused, Peter said, "You did not deserve any of what your father did to you. And I don't even know what the hell he did! Now…" Peter was at a loss for words. He still had no idea how to handle the emotions his partner portrayed. "Go get some rest. You _do_ need it."

"What about Neal?" the man asked, still talking in third-person.

"I'll talk to Neal in the morning, okay? Now go sleep." Peter said, helping Neal stand up. He guided the man upstairs and into the guestroom. Well _dragging_ was more like it. Neal barely made a sliver of effort in helping him up the stairs. He simply lay as dead weight against Peter.

By the time Neal was laying on his bed again, his personality had gone back to the happy child-like state it had started in. As Peter shut the door, he heard a muffled, "So why don't ya hold onn, 'cuz I'm comin…"

He chuckled lightly and headed downstairs. He would have to confront Neal tomorrow. It was blatantly obvious that he was hurting, and had many memories he'd kept to himself for years. Peter sighed and sat on his couch, trying to catch up on the portion of the basketball game he'd missed.

"Neal, what am I gonna do with you…" Peter mumbled to himself, watching the players on TV scramble around the court.

"_I_ don't know, Peter." A voice said from behind him. He recognized the slur. He turned around to face a grinning con man gripping onto the banister for support.

Peter sighed exaggeratedly and crossed the room to Neal, once again dragging him up the stairs.

"Ya know Peter you should really get better locks, anybody could pick that bedroom one…" Neal's voice faded as Peter got him farther up the stairs.

Elizabeth walked out from the kitchen where she'd been eavesdropping for the past half hour. She sighed and sat on the couch, waiting for her husband to join her. Neal may have been a criminal but she cared for him almost like a son. It hurt her to think that Neal's actual bloodline was as horrible as she'd heard. El momentarily wondered about Neal's mother. She wasn't even sure if he'd had one. Regardless, it was obvious that Neal needed a comforting figure in his life. And she really hoped her husband could do that for him. She really did.

**A/N: I am so so so so so so so sorry I haven't updated in almost a week! It's been a little hectic but I hope to be back on track with updates right away. It was very difficult to write a drugged Neal. I realize it was probably very OOC, but most drugged people don't act themselves anyway. So please don't be cruel! Criticism is always appreciated, as is praise, because reviews are my favorite thing! There is plenty of Peter comfort to come. The big break down scene will not be in the next installment, but it is coming. **

**I just have one question. When Neal shares memories with Peter, do you prefer him verbally telling Peter or flashbacks? I'm fine with writing either one. Please leave your opinion in a review, thanks!**

**-AgentDiNozzo13**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: The big confrontation chapter is here. I may put the whole thing, I may break it into two. But either way it isn't finished yet, don't worry. There is still plenty comfort to come.**

**Warning: This chapter contains mention of sexual abuse. It will not go into much detail but I suggest that if you are too young to read that sort of thing that you should skip those scenes or this chapter in general. Just a warning.**

**Hope you enjoy!**

Peter climbed into bed next to Elizabeth. She was clad in one of his button-up dress-shirts, always her first choice in sleepwear. She was leaning against the head board, finishing a chapter of the book she was reading. After reading the final word she stuck in her make-shift bookmark (one of Peter's business cards) and placed the book on the nightstand.

"Did Neal fall asleep yet?" Elizabeth asked her husband, sinking into a lying-down position.

"Yeah I just checked on him. He's out like a light. We don't have to worry about any more singing tonight." Peter said, leaning over to kiss his wife on the forehead.

"That's good. I hope he sleeps okay. He's had a rough few days."

"Don't worry, he'll be fine." Peter said as he leaned over to switch off his bedside lamp. El did the same, and within minutes they were asleep. Both of them were worn out after dealing with Neal all day.

…

It was 2:22am exactly, and all was quiet in the Burke house. Peter snored lightly in his bed, his wife in a silent slumber next to him. Even Satchmo was quiet, sleeping like a log at the foot of the bed.

A noise stirred in one of the rooms. It was faint at first, but grew slightly louder as minutes passed. Peter's eyes blinked open, his keen sense of hearing picking up on the sound before his wife's. He couldn't quite tell what it was until about a minute later. When he _did_ decipher the noise, he was swept with shock. It was Neal. He was screaming. The bed could be heard creaking, probably from Neal tossing and turning. Peter was out of his bed in a second, careful not to disturb his wife, and ran into the guest room.

…

_Neal awoke slowly, trying to make sense of his surroundings. It all seemed so familiar, yet he couldn't determine exactly where he was. The room was very dark, only adding to his confusion. As his eyes adjusted, several aspects of the room came into focus. First he saw a nightstand, then a desk. It wasn't until one of the photos on the desk came into view that he realized where he was. The photograph was of Neal and his mother, taken when he was several years old. Neal was in his old bedroom, nestled deep inside his father's mansion. _

_Neal sensed another presence in the large mansion. He shifted his vision over to the door. A dim ray of light shone in from the hallway, casting two shadows where the light was blocked by feet. The door swung open silently, the feet now developing a full body. It was not just any body, it was his father's body. _

_Neal's father took several steps forward until he was beside his son's bed. He leaned over, rubbing the back of his index finger down Neal's cheek; caressing it. Neal shuddered at the touch, fully remembering what it always led to. _

"_Evening, Neal…" his father said, the stench of expensive scotch mixed with bad cologne filling his nostrils. He stayed quiet as his father's finger slipped down his cheek, over his neck, and on top of the bed spread. He slowly peeled the blanket off his son, whispering, "Turn onto your stomach, Neal, be a good boy…"_

…

Neal was mangled in a sheet, his body twisting in turning as he screamed in terror. Peter ran to the bed, grabbing his partner's shoulder. He shook it violently, trying to snap the younger man out of his nightmare. When Neal finally awoke, he shot up to a sitting position, his eyes wide and his breathing erratic and heavy. A cold sweat had broken out on his chest, and he was trembling terribly.

"Neal, what happened?" Peter asked frantically, frightened by his condition.

Neal didn't respond, instead he clutched a hand to his chest, trying desperately to get his breathing under control. He shut his eyes and leaned back against the headboard.

Peter reached out to put a hand on Neal's shoulder, but the con flinched away from the touch, his eyes snapping open.

"Talk to me, Neal. Tell me what just happened." Peter said.

Neal looked away, almost seeming aggravated. "I'm fine, Peter. Just a nightmare."

"That was not _just_ a nightmare. Screaming at the top of your lungs and thrashing around like the bed is on fire is not _just_ a nightmare."

Neal looked embarrassed for a moment, still not looking at Peter.

"Neal, don't shut me out. Talk for once! I can help you!" Peter said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

When Neal remained silent, his jaw visibly clenching in frustration, Peter said, "At least just tell me what the dream was about, Neal. You don't have to go into specifics, just tell me the basics. Was it about your dad?"

"Yes, you happy? It was about my dad. Now drop it. Elizabeth is probably waiting." Neal said, now definitely irritated.

Peter knew it was against his better judgment to leave Neal after an episode like this, but if they were going to have a talk it wouldn't be at 2:30 in the morning. He'd wait until morning, then confront him. In the back of his mind Peter knew he was procrastinating, but he was still clueless. Neal was always the self-reliant one. He often took advantage of the idea that Kate was Neal's only problem. And even though he now knew that was far from true, he tried to keep the illusion in his head.

"Alright, but since we're awake there's something else we need to do. I forgot about it earlier."

Neal leaned back slightly, his eyebrows scrunching together in suspicion.

"And what might that be?"

"We have to change that bandage." Peter said, his eyes focusing on Neal's shoulder. Neal turned to look in the same direction, his neck craning awkwardly. He remember the lacerations from his father. He'd never noticed the thick gauze taped there.

"I can manage myself, Peter." Neal said, embarrassed at his lack of ability. He knew there was no way he could reach that part of his shoulder.

"You can barely _see_ there, let alone change a bandage. I can help, just trust me." Peter said.

At the word trust, Neal stiffen, but sighed in defeat.

"Fine."

"Good." Peter said with a small smile, going downstairs to get the equipment needed.

When he had come back upstairs, Neal had changed from his white t-shirt to a white tank top.

"Neal, you're gonna have to take your shirt off." Peter said, wondering why the con was suddenly shy. Usually he had no problem removing his shirt, especially when in the presence of women. Not that that had any relevance here.

Neal was about to protest, but knew it was true. He slowly pulled the beater off, revealing his soft, sculpted chest and torso. Neal really was the whole package. No wonder he had women lined up at his doorstep.

"Turn around." Peter said, readying several pieces of medical tape, gauze, and anti-bacterial ointment.

Neal reluctantly turned, his equally-sculpted back now facing Peter.

Peter took the bandage off slowly, careful not to disturb the area or hurt Neal. He didn't want to lose his trust from something as simple as ripping a band-aid off too fast.

As the dirtied gauze tore away, the tally marks were made evident. The sight was almost gruesome. The wounds were only partially closed, leaving a mess of dried blood surrounding them. Peter took a washcloth he had brought from the bathroom and squirted a bit of ointment on it, gently rubbing it in circles on the inflicted area.

"Ah! Peter that stuff stings!" Neal complained, wincing in pain as the cream made contact.

"Cowboy up, I've seen five-year-olds take this stuff without complaining."

Peter couldn't see it, but Neal rolled his eyes.

Just as Peter secured the new gauze into place, he noticed an imperfection in the man's skin. Not too far from the bandaged area, there was another set of lines. They were extremely faint, white lines. There were four of them, all parallel to eachother. They were old scars. Peter tried to pretend he was still working on the bandage, poking his fingers across the material as he searched Neal's back for further injuries. He found three more areas with similar markings, with tally-count ranging from two to eight. They were all very old. If it weren't for the slight tan Neal had developed this recent autumn (it had been like a second summer this year, temperatures rising above ninety degrees), he wouldn't have even known they were there.

Neal seemed to notice Peter's lack of movement, and abruptly turned around.

"Is it all set?" Neal asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Uh, yeah, it's all set." Peter replied, trying unsuccessfully to return his expression to normal.

"Ok… Thanks, Peter…" Neal said, grabbing the tank top and pulling it back over his head.

"Any time…" Peter said before leaving the room to return to his wife.

When he climbed back into bed, Elizabeth was awake waiting.

"What did he say?" she asked, curious at why it had been so short.

"He was having a nightmare. Avoided my questions as usual. But there was something else."

"What?" El asked, ignoring (for now) the fact that her husband hadn't offered Neal comfort.

"I helped him change his bandage on his shoulder, the one from the knife cuts,"

El nodded, grimacing when she remembered Neal's father inflicting the tally marks into her favorite criminal.

"and I noticed these old scars. There were white and faded, but they were in exactly the same position as the tally marks. It's like a trade mark."

El sighed, "So this definitely isn't the first time?"

"Nope. I have a feeling this kid's been to Hell and back. I just wish he would talk to me."

"Well next time maybe you should try a little harder." El said, referring to her husband's failure to comfort Neal only moments ago.

"Yeah, I know. Tomorrow, I promise." Peter said, knowing he had made similar promises to her before.

Elizabeth only smiled and turned onto her side, snuggling into Peter's embrace.

…

At 4:35am Peter awoke to a retching sound coming from through the wall. He got up slowly and went out into the hallway, finding Neal's door open. Down the hall he saw a light in the bathroom. When he peered into the room, his eyes quickly adjusted to the light. He saw Neal, hunched over the toilet, violently emptying the contents of his stomach.

**A/N: Again, really sorry it took a week to update! I thought my life would slow down this week but its turning out to be the opposite. And about that ending scene, don't worry, it's not a medical issue. I, for one, am not a fan of major hospitalization time in stories. It is more-so panic attack type symptoms mixed with his already-present dizziness. I will not say anything more than that, it has to be a surprise. :) **

**Thank you again to all my amazing reviewers and I hope you all continue to share your opinions and comments with me! I very much enjoy them and try to incorporate almost all ideas into my story as long as they coincide with the plot and my direction. So be sure to throw out any ideas you would like to see and I'll see if I can fit it in!**

**P.S. No White Collar this week :( but supposedly a good one next week! Yay!**

**And a shout-out to JennyLB for all her help and support for this story. Her comments and criticism are greatly appreciated! In fact, you can thank her for the section about changing Neal's bandage. She gave me the idea for that, although I'm sure both she and all of you out there don't know why I chose to make it at 2:30 in the morning. I don't really know why myself! **

**Well anyway, until next time!**

**-AgentDiNozzo13**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Again, sorry for the wait! I had every intention of updating last weekend but I completely forgot I had training. I volunteer at a zoo and was away most of Saturday. But here it is, plenty of Peter comfort and Neal memories/stories! Don't worry, this isn't the end, still plenty more to come!**

**WARNING: This chapter contains slightly detailed mentions of sexual abuse which could be inappropriate to younger readers and definite mentions of physical and emotional pain. Don't like, don't read.**

_The second Peter left the room, Neal had fallen back into his troubled slumber. He was immediately back in his bed as a child, his father pulling the blankets away. The coldness of the room bit at Neal's skin, causing goose bumps to break out across his limbs. _

"_Turn onto your stomach, Neal, be a good boy…"_

_Neal gulped and tried to refrain, but he didn't seem to be in control of his movements. He felt himself slowly turn over, putting his face down into the pillow. _

"_That's my boy. Daddy's had a long day, he needs some love…" his father said. His voice sounded like it was meant to soothe, but on Neal it had the opposite effect. He felt himself shudder, both from temperature and from fear. His father must've felt the shudder too._

"_Aw, is my boy cold? Don't worry, I'll warm you right up. Now be a good boy and stay still…"_

…

Neal bolted up in the bed, once again gasping for air. Before he could make sense of where he was, he shot out of bed and ran into the hall, trying to find the bathroom door. When he finally found it, he thrust it open, leaning over the already-opened toilet and emptying his stomach. The entire time he had thoughts of his father racing through his head. The unwelcome touch, the thick stench of alcohol, and the things he had said…

Neal got a second wind and emptied what was left in his stomach, before dry heaving for several minutes. When the heaving subsided, he felt a hand on his back, slowly moving up and down. At first it felt comforting, but Neal quickly moved out of the hand's way, slumping against the wall. It was Peter, and his worry lines were only increasing in depth the longer he stared at him. Neal knew he must look completely drained.

Neal closed his eyes softly, leaning his head back against the wall. He appreciated the cooling feeling against his now burning-hot skin. He could feel all color visibly draining from his face.

"So, are you still gonna tell me it was just a nightmare?" Peter asked, trying not to express the concern he felt. He realized that such intense show of emotion caused Neal to recoil somewhat.

Neal scoffed, as well as he could at least, with his mouth being dry and sour-tasting.

"I was planning on it." Neal said, trying to put on his usual charming façade, but failing miserably.

Peter nodded, standing up fully. He extended his hand out towards Neal.

"C'mon, you should get back in bed." Peter said, ready to help the man up.

"Just a sec, Peter…" Neal said, trying to swallow any further nausea. He was feeling extremely light-headed and needed to gather himself before attempting to stand. When he finally grasped Peter's waiting hand, he noticed Peter shudder slightly.

"Your hand, it's really cold!" Peter commented, looking at his partner's pale, shaking hands.

"And your hand's really warm, now can we just go?" Neal said, taking a step forward.

Peter made a grab for Neal but it was too late, his hand had slipped from Peter's grasp and the con man was now sprawled on the floor. A muffled, "ow" was heard from Neal, who gave no indication that he was going to roll himself over voluntarily. Peter sighed and bent down, slinging Neal's arm over his shoulder and helping him into a standing position. He then proceeded to carry Neal's dead weight back to the guest room.

When Neal was safely seated on his bed, his knees pulled up to his chest, Peter shut the door firmly and sat down on the edge of the bed. Neal eyed him suspiciously, wondering why he hadn't gone back into his own room.

"Neal, we are going to talk about this. Right now. I don't want to hear protests." He paused and let Neal sink this in before continuing. "The fact that you are having memories so vivid and horrible that you are getting physically ill is not normal. I can help you."

"Don't forget I have a concussion, Peter. That can cause sickness too. Why do you always overlook everything?" Neal asked, desperate to get Peter out.

"Why do you always _under-look_ everything?" Peter asked.

"Under-look?" Neal asked with a slight smile, trying to lighten the mood.

"This is not a time to comment on my grammar, Neal. This is serious! What was it you were dreaming about? What did your father do to you?" Peter pushed, irritated with Neal's constant diversions.

Neal moved his expressive blue eyes away from Peter's staring at the side of the bed. His arms were around his knees, making him look more child-like than he ever had. When Peter was about to give up for the night, Neal spoke. His voice was barely a whisper, but his words had such an impact you'd think he had screamed it at the top of his lungs.

"He used to come in my room at night, when my current mom was asleep. I could tell when he'd been drinking. It made his breath smell. He would pull away my blankets… And he'd tell me to turn on my stomach... He told me to be a good boy…"

Peter, although he already knew that Neal had endured sexual abuse, was still taken aback when the words came out of Neal's mouth. He sounded so out of character from his usual charming self. Usually he was so confident and happy, but now he was raw. His walls were breaking down and he had no control over it.

"Is that what you were dreaming about, Neal?" Peter asked quietly.

Neal nodded his head, hoping that Peter would leave it at that and leave before he broke down. The last thing he wanted was Peter seeing him this way.

"Did that happen a lot?" Peter ventured, trying to pry into Neal's past. He hoped he wasn't pushing too fast, if that was the case then Neal would likely shut him out any second.

"Sorta, but it was usually just the hitting and stuff. And his gun. But it was my fault, honest. I never did anything right. Don't you understand that, Peter? I'm a nuisance to everyone. You've said it yourself." Neal said, flashing back to the time they worked a sting in China Town. He'd overheard Peter telling a little girl about what a nuisance he was, and how him being injured is just more paperwork.

Peter sighed, regretting ever saying that. It wasn't as if he'd meant it. He simply was trying to convince himself that he wasn't emotionally involved with the con man's well-being. For his job's sake he often tried to think that. He also saddened slightly when he noticed the nonchalance in the man's voice. He was still trying to sound like normal Caffrey even when talking about such a sensitive topic.

"I didn't mean that, Neal. And nothing your father did to you was your fault." Peter ignored Neal when he rolled his eyes. He was reluctant to ask his next question, but he needed to know, "What else did he do to you?"

Neal looked at Peter for a moment, but quickly diverted his eyes back to the edge of the bed.

"That's not important, Peter." Neal said, praying that he Elizabeth would interrupt.

"Yes it is, Neal! I need to know, and I need you to trust me."

Neal stiffened visibly. "I _do_ trust you, Peter."

"Then tell me what else he did." Before Neal could protest he added, "Start small. What did you mean when you said 'current mother'?"

Neal gave a small sigh of defeat before speaking.

…

_Neal's biological mother, though not as horrible as his father, was not exactly a saint. On the days she was actually home, her intoxication level was off the charts. She would lay around on the couch and call for Neal when she wanted another drink. Or a cigarette lit. All too often when he did this for her, she would ground the stub of her previous cigarette into various parts of Neal's body. Usually his arms, legs, or back. Several times it was his chest, but that was only when she was in an extremely bad mood. If he poured her drink wrong, she'd hit him. Sometimes she'd throw her glass at him, or toss the drink in his face. She had many techniques at punishing Neal. _

_On the rare occasion Neal's mother was sober, she was a picture-perfect mom, directly out of Better Homes and Gardens magazine. She would cook dinner, take pictures, sketch landscapes, even take Neal to the park. Those were the times Neal cherished, the memories he dwelled on when he was caught in the middle of a beating. For a long time, the possibility of another day like that was the only thing that kept Neal going. _

_But then there was that day. Neal was eight years old at the time. His mother had over-indulged on alcohol yet again, and was trying to stand up from her couch. Her altered depth perception caused her to run into the chair next to her and collapse onto the ground. When Neal entered the room, she was lying there, choking on her own alcohol-induced vomit. He should have helped her. He should have ran to her and helped her onto her side. But he didn't. He simply stood and watched. When his mother, in a desperate fight for survival, reached her hand out to him, he ignored it. He watched in a stunned silence as his mother died. _

_When she was finally gone, he walked over to her body and gently slid her eyelids closed. He removed the necklace from around her neck; it was a locket with a photo of Neal in it. She usually only wore it when sober, but often she'd forget to remove it. And in her drunken state she never realized it was there. He put the necklace in his pocket and went up to his room. _

_Later that night when his father returned home, he demanded that Neal tell him what happened. But Neal lied. He said he never heard anything unusual. He acted distraught and overcome with grief. But the entire time he felt free. Not completely, because he still had to live with his father. But more free than he had in a while. Even when his father blamed him for his mother's death, and beat him unconscious that night, he still felt no remorse. _

_On the one month anniversary of his mother's passing, his father brought home a woman. He said she was Neal's new stepmother. They had just left Town Hall where they'd made it legal. And that's when the chain of step mothers began. After that night, James Caffrey went through countless divorces and marriages. Neal was graced by a new "mom" several times a year. Each one worse than the last._

…

Peter could do nothing but stare at the man in front of him. Neal was still staring down at the bed, avoiding eye-contact with Peter.

"I didn't help her." Neal whispered, his eyes finally meeting Peters. They were pleading.

"Neal, you were eight years old, even if you tried to help her, you couldn't have saved her. And you know that." Peter said, his mind still trying to picture a young Neal standing over the dead body of his mother. Neal's dislike of dead bodies paired with his lack of emotion beyond cockiness didn't make it very easy. It was hard to picture Neal as a child in the first place, let alone a child who watched his mother die. Or a child who was repeatedly beaten or burned by that same woman.

"But I didn't even try! I let her die!" Neal said, unable to comprehend the fact that Peter was defending _him_, the one who ignored his own mother's plea for help.

"But you were a child, Neal. There was no way for you to know what to do. And even if you had an idea, you were probably in shock. I hate to say it, but she deserved to die anyway. She hurt you, a lot. She had to pay at some point." Peter could tell Neal was trying to stay composed, but his jaw was clenched and his breath was coming out erratically. Peter couldn't tell if he was angry and on the verge of yelling, or broken and on the verge of sobbing.

"But not like that." Neal said, still blaming himself despite Peter's words.

Peter was at loss for words. Neal was stubborn, and obviously wouldn't believe what Peter said. He wanted to push further, to find out what else Neal went through, but the younger man was beginning to look ill again. He didn't want to push him too hard. He'd try again tomorrow.

"You should get some sleep." Peter said, lifting himself off of the bed.

Neal simply coiled his arms tighter around his knees and rested his head on top. Peter decided that was good enough and walked to the door. Before closing it, Peter turned back to Neal.

"It wasn't your fault, Neal."

Neal didn't respond, but instead changed his position. He swung his legs off the bed and rested his elbows on each knee. He cradled his head in his hands. Peter sighed and left, closing the door lightly behind him.

**A/N: I really hope that was okay. It's not easy at all writing Neal like this while staying in character. I'm sure its OOC. I'm so sorry but I did try! Still plenty of comfort to come. If anyone has suggestions or constructive criticism, I'm all ears! Please review! The more reviews and advice I get, the more motivation I have. It makes me write more. I get very stressed and paranoid when I don't get reviews. I will try my best to update sooner, I really will! Again, please review! And thank you all!**

**-AgentDiNozzo13**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Again, I must tell you not to worry, this is not the end of the story. I am trying to draw this story out, with several hurt/comfort chapters as well as an eventual court chapter or two and possibly a prologue. I am sad to think that this story may be ending, as I hope you are too, so I'm trying to make it last. I strongly appreciate all my fans and reviewers, it means so much to me, you really have no idea. A kind word is seldom heard in my life, and you are all so wonderful. I hope you enjoy this installment! **

The next morning Peter wasn't surprised when Neal didn't come downstairs for breakfast. The con man had a habit of unintentionally starving himself when under a lot of stress. El walked over to the dining room table where Peter was seated, and poured him a bowl of his favorite cereal before taking her own seat.

"How'd it go last night?" Elizabeth asked, taking a bite out of her banana nut muffin.

"We're making progress. He told me about his mom." Peter said, swirling his spoon in circles for a minute before taking his first bite of cereal. He tried keeping his voice hushed, just in case Neal was awake.

"What did he say?" El asked, curious about the maternal figure in Neal's childhood.

"You sure you want to hear this?" Peter asked, knowing full-well that she did. He had to ask anyway.

El just gave him a look, and Peter knew it stood for yes.

"Well, his real mother was an alcoholic. She used to burn him with her cigarettes and knock him around when he didn't pour her drink correctly." Peter tried to keep his anger in check while talking about such horrible things. "When he was eight, he walked in on her; she was choking on her own vomit, and she died in front of him."

El gasped, holding a hand over her mouth.

"And the weird thing is, he blames himself for her death! He says he should've helped her, turned her over or something. But he was a kid! An eight year old doesn't know what to do when he's watching his mother die! It's a miracle he even stayed so composed during it!"

"What did his father do?" El dared to ask.

"He blamed Neal, too. It sounds like he beat him silly that night. God, El, this kid's been through so much already, how is he still standing?" Peter asked, still unable to comprehend Neal's coping skills. Here he was, at the top of the world with his designer suits and beautiful women, but inside he was still a scared little kid trying to break free.

Elizabeth placed her partially-devoured muffin down, no longer hungry. She was so fond of Neal, and knowing that he had such horrible role models killed her inside. She almost wished _she_ had been Neal's mother. She would've shown him what it felt like to be loved.

"When are you going to talk to him again?" El asked.

"Probably later today, if he ever comes downstairs." Peter said, glancing at the stair case.

"Good. If he doesn't come down, make sure you check on him. Don't just leave him up there alone with his thoughts all day." El said, giving her husband a kiss on the cheek before heading to the door with her jacket. When she opened the front door, Peter noticed the steady downpour that had started. Dark fog was hanging heavily in the sky, giving it an eerie look.

"Bye hon." El said, smiling.

"Bye, hon." Peter said, smiling as El opened her umbrella and trudged out into the rain.

…

At around 11:00am, Peter still hadn't seen any sign of Neal. He ascended the stair case, and paused outside of the guest room. He couldn't hear any movement inside, and wondered if Neal was still sleeping. He slowly opened the door, and saw Neal's form slumped over on the bed in the same position as the night before. His head was still cradled in his hands. The only difference was that he had removed his white beater, revealing the nasty array of bruises and scars across his chest and back. One particularly gruesome bruise covered half of his ribcage. It was partially a blend of purple and blue, but the rest was fading into a sickly yellow color. The bandage from his cuts still seemed okay, no blood had since soaked through.

"Morning." Peter said, hoping to get the man's attention.

Neal flinched suddenly, standing up to his full height. His demeanor changed completely, now mostly casual. Peter couldn't believe he was still trying to act fine.

"Morning." Neal returned, suddenly realizing the extent of his injuries were exposed. He grabbed a clean tank top out of his bag and quickly pulled it on, hiding a wince when it brushed over his cuts.

"You missed breakfast, but lunch is still optional if you're hungry." Peter said, keeping the conversation casual.

"No thanks." Neal said. However, when Peter said okay and went to head downstairs, Neal followed several feet behind.

The two men sat in silence in the living room for a while, Peter half-focusing on a basketball game on TV and Neal staring blankly at his hands.

Peter was about to cave in and break the silence when Neal beat him to it.

"Can I go take a shower?" Neal asked, hoping cleanliness and fresh clothes would help him feel like his old self.

"Sure. First door on the left." Peter said, watching as Neal stood and headed back upstairs. After several minutes he heard the shower turn on. Then all he could do was wait.

…

When Neal stepped into the shower, after removing his clothes and shoulder bandage, the warm water burned the various injuries covering his body. He quickly turned the handle so that it pointed towards "cold". Although the cold water was somewhat unwelcoming, it felt much better when it contacted his various cuts and bruises. He selected a bottle of shampoo from the tub's edge, assuming it was Peter's considering the other bottle was pink, and lathered it into his hair. When he rinsed the suds out, he cursed softly when it ran over his cuts. The soap burned intensely, it took all Neal had not to shout out in pain. When the stinging finally subsided, the water had turned ice-cold, so he turned it off and stepped out. There was a clean towel on the hook, so he grabbed it and dried off his hair and body. He had brought a change of clothes in with him, and dressed before leaving. His clothes consisted of dark designer jeans, a tank top, and a green button-up shirt.

He walked up to the fogged mirror and wiped away a circular area with his towel. He almost didn't recognize his own reflection. The bruising on his face had been minimal, so that wasn't his concern. The aspect he couldn't get over was the exhausted quality his face had taken on. There were deep bags under his eyes, and his pupils were dilated. He ran his fingers through his still damp hair, realizing how long it had gotten. When it was hanging naturally, it fell into his line of vision.

"Dammit!" Neal swore when he moved his arm to put down the towel. The action had caused his shirt to rub against his cuts, reminding him he'd forgotten to replace the bandage. He really didn't want to ask Peter to help him, but he knew there was no way he could do it himself. He grabbed the roll of gauze, medical tape, and… the cream… and headed downstairs.

…

Neal found Peter in the living room, just as he'd left him, watching the remainder of the game. At first he hesitated, unsure of how to ask.

"Neal." Peter greeted without turning around.

Problem solved.

"Peter. Hey, uh, I was wondering if you could put a new bandage on my shoulder really quick. You don't have to, I was just wondering." Neal said, half of him hoping he said no.

"Sure." Peter said, almost too cheerfully, and stood up off of the couch. Neal held out the medical instruments to him, slipping the cream bottle into his pocket at the last second. There was no need for it in his opinion.

Peter accepted the supplies, about to instruct Neal to remove his shirt.

"Neal, where's the antibiotic cream?" Peter asked, having an idea.

"What do you mean?" Neal asked innocently.

"You know what I mean. Where'd you put it?" Peter asked, fully aware of the charade Neal was trying to pull.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Peter. It's obviously around here somewhere." Neal said with such sincerity Peter almost believed him. Almost.

"I thought you said you've never lied to me." Peter asked, switching tactics from seriousness to guilt.

"I haven't. Like I told you, I'm sure it's around here. It's too bad we can't find it, though. I guess we'll just have to use it next time." Neal said, a cocky grin on his face.

"Is it in your pocket, Neal?" Peter asked. Peter felt accomplished that he was beginning to catch on to some of Neal's tricks, as small as they maybe.

Neal was about to say no, but remembered he didn't lie to Peter. "Does it _look_ like it's in my pocket?" he asked instead, trying to redirect.

"Neal, empty your pockets."

Neal apprehensively put his hands in his pockets, pulling them inside-out. He skillfully snuck the tube into his hand at the last second, avoiding detection.

"Now put out your hands palm-up."

Crap.

Neal slowly did as he was told, revealing the small tube of cream in his hand.

Peter gave Neal a look, taking the tube from the younger man's hand.

"Unbelievable. It's like I work with a child." Peter mumbled to himself. Neal's lips quirked up slightly, but as soon as the cream made contact with his skin, his face fell.

"Ah! God, Peter, could you rub any harder?" Neal asked sarcastically.

Peter smiled. "I could try."

Neal's eyes widened in fear, which only increased the size of Peter's smile.

The two of them remained silent until Peter put the last piece of tape over the gauze on Neal's shoulder. Just before Neal was able to grab his tank top off the couch, Peter put a hand on his arm to restrain him.

Neal noted the awkward position they were both in; Peter behind him, leaning over to grasp his arm so that he couldn't put his shirt back on; and remarked, "I _really_ hope there's a good reason for this."

Peter rolled his eyes and manually turned the shorter man around. Neal felt awkward and exposed, his bruised and beaten body on display in front of his handler.

"You have tally marks on your back." Peter stated.

Neal held back a gulp. "Yeah, I know Peter, I was there."

"Not just those, Neal, I can see all your old scars. Are you going to tell me about it?" Peter cursed inwardly, realizing how straight-forward and harsh his voice had sounded. He made an internal vow to show more compassion the next time he spoke.

"It was a long time ago, Peter. It's not important. I've moved on."

"It _is_ important. What could you have done that made your father hold you down and cut you?" Remembering his vow, Peter added, "You didn't deserve it, Neal, just tell me what happened. Please."

That last word seemed to make a dent in Neal's emotional wall, and he sighed, sitting down on the couch. Peter sat across from him, noting how eerie the room seemed with the fog and beating rain that could be seen out of the window behind Neal. It gave the room a hazy feeling, the feeling you get when there has been a death or accident and no one quite knows what to do next.

After a long moment of hesitation, Neal began to speak. His voice was quiet, laced with apprehension and unease.

**A/N: Sorry there weren't any memories or anything in this chapter! It was more-so made so that you can all see how the two of them are coping and reacting. I've been trying to keep the banter going occasionally, so the it doesn't seem too OOC or sappy. Neal needs to realize that telling Peter isn't going to change their relationship. The last thing Neal would ever want is to be treated forevermore like a victim. **

**I have a basic outline of what the scar story is, but again, if anyone has an idea of something they want included or a rendition of a memory that may be better than mine, please please let me know. I really care about you guys! Your opinion means a lot! **

**Happy Birthday to White Collar creator Jeff Eastin! **

**White Collar Season 2 finale tomorrow!**

**As for memories and stories: I've been trying to compensate with my trouble writing Neal with flashback type memories, because it's difficult to write Neal talking about these things without it being OOC. I hope that's okay, I will try and get Neal talking about the memories more in the next chapter. **

**BIG QUESTION: Please reply in a comment!**

**For the scar story, would you prefer it in a flashback sequence, like the one about his mother, or have him say it? **

**I know, I write obnoxiously long author's notes. I'm sorry, I just try to keep people updated with what's going on. Let me know if its annoying!**

**Anyway, please review! You are all wonderful, both my readers and reviewers, but reviews definitely put a smile on my face and give me motivation to write. Thanks!**

**-AgentDiNozzo13**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: As you can see, I'm attempting to get these chapters up sooner, but now we have CAPT testing. Do we never have a break? Guess not. Oh well. But it's okay because guess what… the big Neal break down scene is just around the corner! I have it completely planned about where/when/how it's going to happen. I'm so excited to write it just as I hope you're all excited to read it. I'll try my best to make it intense and heart wrenching, just don't get your expectations up too high, I have a tendency to disappoint.**

**One more thing I'd like to address. I realize I often have spelling errors in my chapters, sometimes a wrong word or two, but here is why. When I write these chapters, with the exception of Neal's break down scene, I don't tend to plan them. I just write whatever pops into my head. If I reread it more than once, I psych myself out and start changing everything. So any errors I don't catch in the read-through I completely apologize for, but trust me, it's for the better. **

**WARNING: There will be some bad language in this chapter, usually I try not to include much profanity but in certain places it seemed necessary. Just warning you.**

**Well enough of me talking, you have a cliffhanger to continue! Enjoy!**

"Each cut has its own story, Peter. They all stand for something. Some time when I screwed up. My dad was kind of a symbolic guy, literally speaking." Neal said, folding his hands into one conjoined fist and resting his elbows on his knees and his mouth on his hands.

"Tell me about the first time." Peter said gently, studying his friend's every move.

"The first time he hurt me or the first time he cut me?" Neal asked with a little too much casualty.

"Cut." Peter said softly, sitting back as Neal began to tell his story.

...

_When Neal was in elementary school, he had a tendency of getting into trouble. It was nothing serious, he wasn't a bully or a trouble-maker, he just had a problem sitting still. Whether it was story time in first grade or lecture time in fifth, Neal always managed to sneak out and end up some place he didn't belong. After several insubordinations is first grade, his teacher decided to send a letter home to his parents.  
Later that night when Neal gave the sealed envelope to his mother, rather than his father, she tossed it aside. She had no interest in his school work. Her only goal was to find another drink. Neal hoped that would be the last time anyone ever spoke of it. _

_Unfortunately, his father found it the next day, still sitting on the counter where his mom had tossed it while rummaging through the various alcohol cabinets. He waited for Neal to get home from school that day. He was sitting in an expensive arm chair that had been turned to face the door._

_When Neal first entered, he thought it was a nightmare. He thought he'd wake up instantly, a cold sweat broken out on his chest. Just like all the other times. However, when his father arose from the chair and thrust his son against the wall next to the front door, the splitting pain in his head told him it was reality. The cold, harsh reality he'd gotten used to over the years. _

"_You think you can make a fool of me, boy? You think you can do whatever you'd like and still be the heir to my fortune? Well think again, tough guy. I don't appreciate being bad-mouthed because my son can't sit quietly through fucking story time!" he growled at his cowering son._

_James Caffrey knew from experience that his son was non-violent and basically never fought back. He used it to his advantage often. Even when he grabbed the back of Neal's shirt and dragged him into the basement, the only defense Neal made was a small struggle against his father's grip. It was a fruitless attempt, however, and soon he and his father were alone in his basement. _

_There were several different sections to his large basement. The first, right at the bottom of the stairs, was the wine cellar. There were racks of various foreign wines lining all the walls, leaving only one corner bare. Rather than taking Neal to one of the other sections of the basement; the room with the incinerator or the storage room; James threw his first grade son into the empty corner away from the wine. _

_Neal landed with a thud, pain shooting through his body. This father advanced, reaching into his back pocket._

"_What are you-" Neal began to ask when suddenly he was slammed onto his stomach, his father standing over him._

"_You are so pathetic, Neal. It's not so hard to just sit still!" Neal's father dug the knife he had been holding into Neal's back, dragging it down to make a deep, inch- long line. "You feel that? Huh? Do you fucking feel that, Neal?" _

_Neal cried out in pain, his young 6-year-old voice barely carrying out across the room.  
"Dad, that hurts!" Neal cried._

"_Don't call me that!" James yelled, dragging the knife another inch down Neal's back. _

_Neal hollered again, causing his father's anger to escalate even farther. Neal could feel hot tears running down his cheeks, combined with an unbearable stinging sensation in his back. His father was still holding the knife in his skin, waiting for an excuse to pull it farther through Neal's soft flesh._

"_Are you _crying_?"James yelled, pulling the knife down a final inch before he harshly ripped it out._

_Sobs began to escape young Neal, wracking his body. He felt the pressure of his father's knee release, no longer pinning him down. At first he assumed his father was going to leave. He heard his footsteps retreating into a different part of the basement. A minute or so passed in silence, Neal's sobs lessening into quiet sniffles and whines of pain. _

_After what seemed like an eternity passed, Neal heard footsteps coming back towards him. He was almost positive it was his father, but he couldn't move his head to look. His body wasn't cooperating with his mind._

_When the sensation hit him, everything suddenly began to blur. His back erupted in pain, it felt as if someone had set him on fire. His eyes fogged over, suddenly unaware of anything but the pain. He couldn't see, couldn't breathe, couldn't think. When his small body finally gave out, falling into a peaceful state of unconsciousness, his father grinned. He set down the now half-full bottle of wine next to his son, retreating up the stairs. He locked the door of the basement, leaving his six year old son to regain consciousness alone. _

…

"Your father poured alcohol on the cut?" was the first thing Peter asked, disbelief evident in his voice.

"Yup." Neal said, shifting his position. He was now leaning back against the couch, one hand at his mouth, the other resting on the back of couch.

"My God, Neal, and this was all about a letter from your teacher?"

"Mhmm. Good ol' Ms. Burton." Neal said sarcastically, referring to his first grade teacher.

Peter absentmindedly ran his hand down his face, trying to keep his anger at James in check, as not to confuse Neal and make him think he was the one who did something wrong.

Rain still beat down steadily outside. During Neal's story, the room had darkened slightly. Peter was overcome with a sense of irony.

"You realize it wasn't your fault, Neal…" Peter said, not knowing what else to say.

"Don't, Peter-" Neal said, tired of Peter saying it wasn't his fault. He knew that it was, Peter couldn't change that.

"Neal your father manipulated you. He severely punished you for something as minor as disrupting class. That isn't normal, Neal. You know it isn't."

"Peter, stop-" Neal warned again, anger welling up inside of him. He could feel his face growing redder, and his fists were now clenched together, his mouth resting on them.

"Neal don't do this to yourself! You went through a serious trauma as a child and you're actually blaming yourself! It's unbelievable!"

Neal was steaming. He knew this would happen. Peter would view him as some sort of victim. He deserved a good portion of the things his father did to him, and he knew it. He was a screw-up, he always will be. That's why everyone who gets to know the real him leaves. They don't feel like dealing with someone like him. Too much baggage.

"What your father did to you-"

"SHUT UP!" Neal yelled, suddenly standing from the couch. The outburst frightened Peter, he rarely saw Neal this angry. "Just shut up Peter! _You _don't know! You weren't _there_! I'm not a victim, Peter! I deserved every second of it and you know it! I'm a thief and a con and a screw-up, all the shit that's happened in my life I deserve!"

Peter was taken aback. He stood slowly, searching desperately for words. But none came. So instead he studied Neal's expression. His eyes looked desperate, yet spiteful. Every ounce of his body was stiff with adrenaline. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair messed up slightly, and his jaw clenched. Peter could almost see a glint of tears in the young man's eyes, but before he could get a closer look Neal turned and ran up the stairs.

Peter started to follow, but heard the door of the guest room slam and lock. He knew his partner was on the edge of losing his composure, but he still had to pry more. He would give Neal space for a while, but soon he would go talk to the younger man. But for now Neal needed privacy. He had never seen him so upset before, so angry. It was frightening and saddening at the same time.

…

Neal sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. He was trying desperately to compose himself. He didn't even know why he bothered telling Peter. He knew it would turn out this way. Now in Peter's eyes he would forevermore be a defenseless victim. He would be looked at as a child. Someone in constant need of protection and reassurance.

He knew what he had to do. It was his only option now. Peter would thank him later.

…

After a half hour, Peter noticed a shuffling sound emitting from Neal's—the guest room—and assumed he was coming downstairs. However, when a few minutes passed and Neal was no where to be found, Peter ventured upstairs.

The door to the guest room was still shut, and presumably locked, so Peter retrieved a spare key from atop his and El's doorframe. He unlocked the door quietly, and turned the knob. He pushed the door to the room open, expecting the worst. He expected to see Neal laying on the bed, sobbing his heart out. The one thing he couldn't handle.

But he was horribly wrong.

The room before him was empty.

The only life came from the curtains, billowing softly away from the open window. The only sound came from the rain, beating down harder than before on the shingles of his roof.

**A/N: I know I know, another cliffhanger. But I felt like it needed to end here. I'm so sorry if this upsets anyone, but if it makes it any better, Neal's breakdown will be in the next chapter, I promise! And yes, Neal will receive a Peter hug! I know you have all been curious about that!**

**I am so so sad that White Collar is now over! I can not wait until the summer! I, for one, do not believe Neal set that up. There's no way he would defy Peter's trust like that. However, now that the world's greatest con has the world's greatest fortune, what will he do? Will temptation take over? Ahhh!**

**Well anyway, as always I'll try to get the next chapter up as soon as possible. And if anyone would like to help, give me suggestions! Would you like more memories and talking after Neal's breakdown, or have his breakdown basically be the ending sort of, with some Peter comfort and then maybe an epilogue or therapy or something? **

**Please review, they really mean so much to me, I can't say it enough!**

**Thanks to you all!**

**-AgentDiNozzo13**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: CAPT testing has ended, and I now have a bit more free time, so I'm putting a lot of effort into this chapter. I want it to be good, for you guys. You have been so loyal and patient with me, I feel like you deserve it. So here it goes. The big Neal-breakdown-Peter-comfort chapter. I really hope you all enjoy it. **

Peter grabbed his car keys and a coat, rushing out the door as fast as his legs would allow him. After starting the Taurus, he drove down the street at a moderate pace, keeping an eye out for Neal everywhere. There was no knowing what Neal would do at this rate, so overwhelmed by his emotions. Just a couple weeks ago he jumped out of the judge's chambers onto the awning of a bakery. It was obvious this kid wasn't predictable.

After mentally eliminating several places near his house, Peter headed down another street. He had several ideas of where Neal might go, and he had to check them all.

_Wait a minute…_ Peter thought. It suddenly dawned on him. The Marshalls had fixed the feed from Neal's anklet days ago. That's all he needed to do. He reached into the pocket of his jacket for his cell phone. When it wasn't there, he cursed, realizing that in his haste to find Neal, he hadn't taken his phone off the table.

He would have to do this manually. And he would. After all, Neal's really just a kid. _His_ kid, for the most part. And fathers do what they have to do for their children.

…

After successfully scaling down the back of Peter's house, Neal began to walk down the street. In his hurry to get out, he hadn't even taken a coat with him. He was only wearing jeans, a tank top, and a button-up shirt. Rain quickly soaked through, causing his shirt to stick to his skin. It conformed to every aspect of his figure. He was chilled to the bone, but he didn't care. He had to get out of here. Now.

As Neal walked, rain pouring off him like a human umbrella, thousands of thoughts swirled around in his head.

_What will Peter think when he sees I left? _

_Will he be angry? _

_Surprised? _

_Happy?_

_Will he come looking for me?_

_Will he call Jones and have them send out a man hunt?_

_Will he let me leave and never look back?_

He had kept his head down the entire time he walked, and hadn't realized that he was wandering into the bad area of the town. He looked up just in time to see a prostitute headed his way. She strongly resembled his mother, right down to the stumbling walk that results from severe intoxication. Neal became overwhelmed. He had to get away from this woman. She was dirty. He didn't want to look at her. He quickly veered back onto the other road, and was soon back in familiar territory.

He didn't know where he wanted to go, he just wanted to get far away. Far away from everything and everyone. Nothing would ever be the same. He was ruining everything. Just like he always did. Before Neal knew it, he was nearing the entrance to the park. Normally it held such cheerfulness; what with the playing children, the ever-trickling fountain, and the content elderly couples sharing intimate moments on the various benches.

But in the rain it looked so different. The sky was hazy and dark, allowing not even a shred of light in to illuminate the park. The fountain was on the verge of overflowing, the rain being too much for its small stone structure to hold. There were no children playing, and certainly no elderly couples sitting in the shade of the tall oak trees. They were all at home, nestled by the fire on his cold early-winter day.

Home. Now there was a concept. In a way, whether he'd like to admit it or not, the first thing that came to mind at the word was the Burke house. Not his elegant apartment at June's or any of the other various temporary homes he'd acquired over the years. They may have been houses, but they certainly weren't homes. A home is somewhere you feel safe and welcome and wanted. _Needed_, even. Not to say he didn't feel safe or welcome at June's, it just wasn't the same. He didn't know how to describe it, it was just different.

Neal looked up briefly to see that he was in the park. He could feel rain pouring off his face. He shoved his hands into his pockets, desperately trying to generate heat. He could feel his emotions taking over him. He still refused to cry, though. Even though no one was here to see it. He could feel himself shaking; a combination of below-average temperature and the nervous breakdown he was surely undergoing. As more thoughts of Peter and his father swirled around in his head, he grew dizzy. His breathing quickened, as did the beating of his heart. He stopped walking momentarily, trying to compose himself. However, his trembling only intensified. He sniffled once, and then continued to walk at a slower pace.

…

Peter had already passed many obvious places for Neal to be, but with Neal it never seemed to be the obvious place. Although with the current emotional trauma wracking the con man, he likely wasn't thinking straight. Peter decided to check the park next. Neal was always saying how much he liked it there.

There was no way to drive through the park, so Peter parked his car right outside the entrance and ran out into the rain. He fumbled his way through the foggy downpour, his eyes constantly searching for any sign of Neal. After reaching the midpoint of the park, he was beginning to feel like this search was hopeless. If Neal wanted to disappear, he did.

But then he saw a figure. It was about the size of Neal, and it was walking hunched-over about twenty feet in front of him. Peter picked up his pace to almost a run, trying to catch up with the man. Once he was only a foot or so behind him, he recognized the saturated mop of brown hair instantly.

"Neal…"

The man stopped. There was an eerie moment of silence as rain continued to pour down around them. When Neal didn't turn around, Peter put a hand on his shoulder. He felt the man tense beneath his touch, and regretted it slightly.  
"Look at me, Neal... Come on…" Peter said, desperate just to look into the younger man's eyes.

Neal hesitated, but turned around reluctantly.

Peter's heart clenched at the sight before him, and he shifted his hand but kept it on his shoulder. Neal looked absolutely broken. His eyes were bloodshot and brimmed with tears, his jaw was clenched, and Peter could tell he had no idea what to do with himself.

"Save it, Peter." Neal said, his voice breaking. "I'm not worth it."

"What are you talking about? Dammit Neal, haven't I proved to you in the last year that you _are_ worth it? I wouldn't have taken you out of prison if you weren't!"

Neal paused, but shook his head, his drenched hair hanging slightly over his eyes. He began to turn around, but Peter's firm grip on his shoulder got in his way. Peter made him turn to face him once again.

"Just let it go Neal, you have to let it go." Peter said softly, noticing Neal's façade begin to crumble slightly.

"Don't you understand, Peter?" Neal asked. His voice was thick with defeat. "No matter where I go it _follows_ me. All my life I've been… plagued by these constant memories and nightmares. They never leave. At first it's fine, and no one seems to notice. But then they really get to know me. They don't feel like dealing with someone damaged beyond repair. And then I leave before they get the chance to do it first. It's always been like that, and it always will be…" Neal looked at Peter, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. His voice broke yet again, "Where am I supposed to go now?"

Peter pulled Neal into a warm embrace, now completely oblivious to the rain pouring down on them. At first he thought Neal would resist, but the younger man hugged him right back, burying his face in Peter's shoulder.

For a brief moment, all was quiet, aside from the beating of the rain. But then the sobs came. Neal's body wracked with them. All the pent-up sadness and pain was finally being relinquished. Peter kept a firm hand on his head, and another around his shoulders the entire time. Originally Peter had been dreading the moment when Neal cried, but now that it was actually happening, he felt glad it was with him. The sound of Neal crying was heart breaking. He sounded so different from his usual charming self. He sounded like a broken man, a child even, finally getting the chance to let out a lifetime of misery.

The two men stood like that in the rain for minutes, Neal's heartbreak not seeming to let up any time soon.

When the shorter man finally did pull away, Peter kept his hands on Neal's upper arms. Neal kept his eyes cast down, suddenly seeming embarrassed.

"Sorry, Peter…" Neal said, sniffling. He was trying to recompose himself.

"Don't apologize." Peter said. "Look at me."

Neal slowly lifted his head to face Peter, water now combining with the tears on his face, making it practically impossible to distinguish which was which.

"Don't ever apologize for something like that. I know this isn't what you want to hear, but it's true. There is no excuse for anything your father did to you. You were a kid. He had a responsibility to you and he failed you. If anything, _he_ let _you_ down."

Neal was stunned. He had never heard somebody phrase it that way before. All his life he had been made to think he was a disappointment and his father was superior and perfect. But now, Peter was suggesting that the roles were reversed. He didn't know how to respond. So instead he slowly took several steps backwards, until he felt a tree collide with his back. When he was sure the tree was supporting him, he slowly slid down it, until he was sitting on the ground. Peter kneeled down beside him.

"That isn't true, Peter." Neal said, still unable to cope with the fact that he was, indeed, right.

"Do you remember that little girl who came in with her dad when their house was in foreclosure?" Peter asked, redirecting the conversation.

"Yeah..." Neal said, remembering her drawing on Peter's federal forms.

"If she came to you with stories like yours about how her dad repeatedly abused and molested her, would you tell her it was her fault? That she deserved it?"

Neal didn't know what to say. Obviously he wouldn't tell the girl that, but that's because it wouldn't be the girl's fault. She was too sweet and polite. He was different. He provoked his father's behavior. He also shuddered at such harsh words. Having words like "abused" and "molested" just seemed so unfitting compared to how Neal was normally described; charming, handsome, and charismatic. So instead of responding, Neal shook his head slowly to indicated his answer was no.

"That's what I thought. And that's no different from you. There is nothing you could have done to justify what your father did. You _were_ a victim, but you've moved on. You didn't let any of it affect you. You could've grown up to be just like him, but you're different. You rose above him. He doesn't control you anymore."

Neal sniffled again, finally seeming to have gotten his emotions in check (as much as possible, that is).

"Look, Neal," Peter continued, "I'll admit that when I first let you out of prison, I thought you were gonna run. I had no doubt in my mind. I didn't trust you."

When Neal looked up, hurt evident in his eyes, Peter hastily finished his thought.

"But before that first case was over, you had already proved to me that you were better than that. That you weren't just pulling some long-con. I grew to trust you. And I did whatever I could to get you to trust me. You've really proved yourself here, Neal. I'm proud of you."

Neal looked at Peter disbelievingly. There was no way Peter could truly be proud of him, was there?

_You _have_ helped them clear a 97% conviction rate. _His subconscious interjected. _And you've aided in saving Peter's life multiple times. He's risked his job to save you, he obviously cares. _

Neal really wanted to believe it, but after years of being told the exact opposite, it was difficult.

"You really trust me?" Neal asked, his voice still small, but with a hint of masked pride.

"Every day." Peter responded, his lips curving up into a smile.

Neal returned the smile, even though it was slight. Peter stood up to his full height and looked around briefly. The rain was still beating down steadily, but the aura of the area had become brighter. He extended his hand out to Neal. The younger man hesitated at first, then took it, also standing.

"Let's go home. El will kill me if you catch pneumonia." Peter said lightheartedly.

Neal smiled wider, almost to his normal extent. He and Peter began to walk towards where Peter had parked his Taurus.

"Besides, you need to get some sleep tonight. We have court in the morning."

**A/N: I redid the break down scene so many times, and I really don't think I did it justice. I hope it was okay, though. I tried my best, please be nice. The court scene comes next chapter. If anyone has ideas, as always, leave them in a comment, I'd be happy to add them in if they fit. **

**To all my reviewers: You are the best. I mean that. Whether it's a "good chapter" or a five paragraph review, it really makes my day that you liked my story enough to comment on it. And even to the people who only read it, it still means so so much that you care enough to follow my updates. Please please continue to do so! It really really makes my day! **

**Thank you all, please review!**

**-AgentDiNozzo13**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait, stuff has been going on again, plus I had a minor case of writer's block that JennyLB helped out with. But I think my writing will be back on track soon. Especially once spring break rolls around. Then I'll have plenty of time, aside from when I have work. **

Neal, despite Peter's advice, hadn't gotten a wink of sleep. He was amped with adrenaline for hours, his mind never seeming to settle. When he finally did feel tired, it was time for him to start getting ready for court. Of course. He got out the suit he'd brought to Peter's house and laid it out neatly on a chair. He then left his room to take a shower.

…

Peter and Elizabeth sat at their dining room table, picking at their breakfasts. Neither spoke; Peter stared blankly into space and El subconsciously patted the head of Satchmo, who was sitting loyally next to her leg. The sound of the shower starting snapped them both out of their daze.

Peter, realizing they were free to talk for the short time Neal was in the shower, voiced his concerns.

"I don't know if Neal is ready for this." He said, referring to the fact that he had to face a judge and brutal prosecutors only hours after undergoing an emotional breakdown.

"He'll be fine. All the odds are in his favor, honey. He was kidnapped and tortured by his father, who has a history of domestic violence, child abuse, and molestation." El said, resting her hand on Peter's.

"Yeah, but there's no evidence of the abuse other than Neal's statement. James has the statute of limitations to protect him from abuse charges."

"But they still have torture. That's a pretty big deal to most judges, right?" El said, hoping a small joke would lighten her husband's mood. She hated seeing him this worried. He looked almost as worried as she felt.

"Yeah… but those prosecutors can be tough. They don't show mercy on people just because they have some sob story. They will drill him for details that can be used to their advantage. It happens all the time."

"Just try to stay positive, hon. It'll all be over soon."

"Yeah, not soon enough." Peter said as the water shut off above them.

…

Neal towel-dried his hair, quickly running his fingers through it to keep it in place. It didn't take much to style his hair, his thick waves often fell into place naturally. He got dressed slowly, carefully pressing out every wrinkle he could find.

After all, image was everything, right?

When he finally descended the staircase, he found Peter and Elizabeth toying with their breakfasts.

"Morning, Neal." El said casually. "I made breakfast, if you want some. It's in the kitchen."

"I'm fine." Neal said softly, avoiding the stern look Peter gave him for rejecting food.

"You need your energy." Peter commented, noticing the slight bags developing under Neal's eyes.

"That's okay, Peter. Really, I'm fine." Neal said, the thought of food being nauseating to him. He sat at the table, however, directly across from Peter. El was at the head of the table.

Regardless of Neal's denial, Peter pushed an apple from the fruit bowl across the table to Neal. When Neal started to refuse, Peter flashed another stern gaze. Neal, not wanting Peter upset with him, picked up the apple and took a bite. It helped his stomach somewhat, but he still didn't want to eat it. He choked down several more bites before placing the half-eaten apple down. Peter was satisfied enough. At least Neal's stomach wasn't completely barren.

"When are we leaving?" Neal asked to no one in particular.

"In a few minutes." Peter replied, looking at his watch.

Elizabeth stood and cleared the uneaten breakfasts off the table, taking them into the kitchen. Peter took the opportunity to get Neal's attention.

"Are you up for this?" Peter asked, leaning across the table slightly.

"Yeah, I'm fine Peter, really. You don't have to keep asking." Neal said, irritated.

"Okay… okay." Peter said, allowing Neal to keep his apprehension to himself.

"We should probably head out now…" Elizabeth said, noticing the tension when she walked in the room.

Both men stood in silence, and the trio walked to the Taurus together.

…

"All rise for the honorable Judge Bridges." The bailiff said, walking to his post as the judge did the same.

Neal sat in the plaintiff box next to his lawyer, Portia Grand, an old friend of El's. Peter and Elizabeth had been forced to sit with the other awaiting cases. They were seated in the front row, in perfect view of Neal, the judge, and the defendant.

"You may be seated." Judge Bridges said once situated in his own chair, overlooking the room.

Peter caught a glance at Neal, who was putting on his best "fine" act. When Peter looked closer, his friend's discomfort became obvious. His hands were on the verge of trembling, his jaw was clenched, and his right leg jiggled occasionally.

"You may proceed." The judge said, directing his comment at Portia.

"Thank you your honor." She began, smiling. "My client, Neal Caffrey, is here to charge the defendant, James Caffrey, with kidnapping, assault, torture, and attempted murder."

"And what is the proof?" the judge asked.

Portia held out a file for the bailiff to take, containing an incident report and photos of Neal's injuries. The judge flipped through them for a minute or so, then placed the file down.

"Mr. Caffrey, are you prepared to make a statement?" the judge asked, looking at Neal.

"Uh- Yes, your honor. I am." Neal said, sitting up in his seat.

"Very well." The judge said, motioning for Neal to walk to the stand. His lawyer followed, and waited for him to take a seat before beginning.

"Hello, Mr. Caffrey." She started, smiling. "I understand that the man who did _this_…" she held up a photo of his rib cage's bruising, "to you, is in this room?"

Neal nodded yes.

"Could you identify him for the court, please?"

Neal pointed at his father.

"Let the court realize that the plaintiff has identified his father, Mr. James Caffrey." She said. "Can you explain, please, what exactly it was that he did?"

Neal sat up straighter and pulled slightly at his tie, trying to keep his composure. He hated having so many strangers in the same room, all of them staring at him. Some with looks of pity, others with looks of boredom. His eyes settle on Peter, sitting in the front row. Peter nodded his head, giving Neal the bit of reassurance he needed.

"Well, a week or so ago, he-uh- James kidnapped me."

"And he hurt you, is that correct?" Portia asked.

"Yeah, that's correct."

"Can you describe how he hurt you, please?"

Neal gulped, but continued to talk. "He tazed me, beat me up pretty badly, broke some of my ribs, and…" he trailed off, hoping the lawyer would allow him to stop.

"And what, Mr. Caffrey?"

"He cut my shoulder with a knife, several times, and he fired a gun at the wall next to my head."

Several people in the audience omitted gasps, others continued to stare off into space, bored as they waited for their own case.

"Thank you, Mr. Caffrey. If it's alright, could you share a bit of your background with James?" Portia asked, still smiling. Neal was beginning to resent her smile.

"Well, we didn't really have the greatest relationship, when I was a kid. He, uh, hit me, a lot. Sometimes until I'd lose consciousness. When my mother died, he blamed me for it. Yeah, we didn't really get along." Neal said, leaving out as many details as possible.

"I see. Thank you. That is all." Portia said, returning to her seat.

At that time James' lawyer rose. She was a fairly attractive woman, clad in a pencil skirt and blue blazer. Her blonde hair was tied back in a tight bun.

"The defense calls Neal Caffrey to the stand." She said, regardless of the fact that Neal was still there.

The judge nodded, "You may proceed."

The lawyer, Sylvia Brown, approached the stand as told. Peter was already unhappy. He had no idea what this woman had planned, but anyone could tell by looking at Neal that he was a wreck. She better not even think of drilling him too hard.

"Mr. Caffrey; you said that my client, James Caffrey, abused you as a child. Is this correct?" she asked, an evil smile forming.

"Yeah."

"Do you have any proof of this?" she asked.

"Well, no, it was a long time ago." Neal said, trying to figure out her game plan.

"I see. So, is it possible that you're simply fabricating a bit for the court?"

Peter's mouth gaped open.

"No, it's _not_ possible." Neal said, a little confused himself.

"Mhmm. Well is it fair to say that the wounds shown in these photos," she held up a similar photo of Neal's ribs, "were self-inflicted? Or maybe they came from your father while he was fighting you off?"

Neal squinted at her, his own mouth now gaping slightly.

"No, those wounds were from when he repeatedly beat me, _ma'am_." Neal said spitefully.

The judge looked at Sylvia somewhat disbelievingly. "Is that really your only case, Ms Brown?" he asked.

Sylvia seemed taken aback. "Yes, your honor."

"Let the defense rest." The judge said, motioning for Sylvia to return to her seat.

Neal smiled in spite of himself at his father's ability to hire such a ditz as a lawyer. He probably hired her based on looks rather than legal experience.

"The case rules in favor of Mr. Neal Caffrey. Mr. James Caffrey will receive charges of kidnapping, torture, and attempted murder. He will have a thirty year sentencing in a New York federal prison with no chance of bail. Next case." Judge Bridges said, pounding his gavel once.

Neal couldn't believe it. He had expected so much worse. He stood from his chair, walking down to where Peter and Elizabeth were thanking the lawyer.

…

James Caffrey was infuriated. He looked at his son, walking away with a smile on his face. It wasn't right. He didn't deserve to win this case. He had to act fast. This simply wouldn't do.

…

Neal was busy basking in the glory of victory with Peter and Elizabeth when James turned and struck the bailiff across the face with his still un-cuffed hands. Neal was completely oblivious when James pulled the bailiff's gun from his waist band, and began running towards Neal. Even Peter didn't notice anything unusual until James was on top of them, holding Neal in a hostage stance, the gun pointed to his head.

"Peter…" Neal whispered, his eyes scared and pleading.

Peter took a step forward, suddenly terrified. This couldn't be happening. They were so close to Neal finally being safe.

"James… Let Neal go…" Peter said, looking the man straight in the eye.

"You wish. Just trust me, your lives will be so much easier once he's gone. _Mine_ was."

Peter saw the bailiff standing up behind James, rubbing his nose. He gave Peter a signal, telling him to keep talking with James. Peter understood.

"Maybe it _will_ be easier, but I don't care. Neal is an amazing person whether you realize it or not." He could see Neal relax slightly. He almost seemed proud. "Just let him go. You've tormented him enough in his life. If you kill him, you'll get sent to the super-max with all the other murders and rapists. Do you really want that?" he ignored the fact that the super-max wasn't as bad as he made it seem. After all, Neal had been there.

"I don't give a shit about what prison I go to! It'll be worth it _just_ to see him die!" James spat, pressing the gun closer to Neal's temple.

At that moment, the bailiff grabbed James' hand and squeezed, causing him to drop the gun. It skittered across the floor, and Peter picked it up. In several seconds James was once again apprehended, several security guards circling around him.

Neal walked shakily over to Peter.

"Are you okay?" Peter asked, knowing he wasn't but still feeling obliged to ask.

"Uh… no." he finally admitted. Peter was taken aback.

"No?" he turned to El. "Did Neal Caffrey just tell me he _wasn't_ fine?"

"I think he did." El said, also shocked.

Neal ignored their sarcasm. "Can we go now?" he asked.

"Yeah. But when we get back we are having a _serious_ talk." Peter said. He had to know what happened that made Neal hate guns so much. And he _would_ find out. Neal wasn't getting out of this one.

**A/N: Ok, you have no idea how sorry I am for making you wait. I tried posting yesterday but the login server is down. Plus I have been trying so hard to write a court room scene but I'm really not good at it at all. So unfortunately this is it. I will definitely try to get the next chapter up much much faster! There will be Peter comfort and Neal will finally share why he hates guns so much. If anyone out there has read my one-shot, "You Know I Don't Like Guns", it will probably be a different story, not the same one I used in that. **

**Please pretty please review, even though I don't deserve it because of this long wait. **

**Thanks!**

**-AgentDiNozzo13**

**Oh, and to the person who signed anonymously "Just Another Reviewer":**

**Sorry for the language, but what the fuck is your problem? **

**First of all, you reviewed for my NCIS stories on the completely wrong story. This is about White Collar, in case you hadn't noticed.**

**Second of all, those are some of the first stories I wrote, it was when I was about twelve years old! Give me a fucking break! I realize it is choppy and poorly written, but I was TWELVE! Maybe if you took the time to read some of my more recent chapters and stories, you'd see that I have improved. **

**Third of all, I have explained in an author's note of this story that I do not proofread because when I do it makes me anxious and I end up changing absolutely everything. So for that reason, I choose not to proofread. I do sometimes go back and edit a chapter if someone points something out to me. **

**Fourth of all, regarding the fact that you said my profile was too long, if you "don't want to know all that shit about you and what you believe", then DON'T READ MY PROFILE! IT'S THAT SIMPLE! I realize my profile is obscenely long, but some people actually **_**do**_** care! And if you really don't, don't read it! It's not like you are required to! And obviously you **_**must**_** care since you took the time to read it!**

**Fifth of all, the fact that you signed anonymously just shows what a coward you are. You are just afraid to leave an actual review because that would mean I could message you back privately. **

**So, in conclusion, you are an arrogant bitch/bastard and I don't understand why you feel the need to pick apart my early writing. I usually don't get mad about these things, but that was just downright mean! I'm going to leave now, I'm sick of this shit. I **_**really**_** don't need this right now.**

**Sorry to anyone else reading this, don't worry, I'm not mad at you guys at all. Only this "just another reviewer" person. You are all amazing.**

**-AgentDiNozzo13**


	18. Chapter 18 note

Hello to all my faithful followers!

Ok… so I can't even begin to explain how dreadfully sorry I am for making you guys wait almost a year for the next chapter. You have no idea how horrible I feel for doing that. I do have several justifiable reasons, but they aren't an excuse. You guys are amazing and I had no right to do that.

Just to help you understand the reason for my absence, however, these are just a few of the things that have happened since I last updated in April of 2011:

I had final exams

I had a job during the summer that I was at constantly, which took up a lot of my time

My uncle's girlfriend's house burned down (both of them I am extremely close to)

My father started dating some Russian woman from New Jersey that he met online

My grandfather (who I was indescribably close to) passed away very suddenly and very unexpectedly

My dad married the Russian woman after dating her for about a month

My new step mom moved in and completely renovated the house (I live mostly at my mom's so this didn't affect me that much other than stressing me out, but my sister who is in college was forced to move her stuff out so they could turn her room into a guest room)

One of my two dogs, Buster, who I love very much, had to be put down at the young age of 6 because of severe epilepsy and neurological issues

That's just a few. There are plenty of other reasons but I don't want to bore you all with my problems :)

But, anyway, the next chapter of I Didn't Let You Down is in progress, and if all goes well it should be up within the next week or two. I am working so hard to make it a good chapter but it's been quite a while so I can't guarantee it will be good.

I am so extremely thankful to all of you who haven't given up on me! You are honestly the best and reading your reviews and seeing your favorite story and story alert emails have really helped me a lot on some of my bad days.

I also apologize greatly for teasing you by posting this, I hope you didn't get too excited thinking it was a real chapter. As soon as I finish the next chapter I will either post it as chapter 19 or delete this note and post it as chapter 18. Haven't decided yet.

I know it's odd to ask for reviews on this chapter, considering the fact that it isn't a real chapter, but if anyone out there is still reading I'd really appreciate a review or direct message letting me know that you are. It would mean the world to me and give me motivation if I knew people were still reading my stories!

Ok, well I guess that's it, cross your fingers that the next chapter is up soon!

And again, I am so very sorry for making you wait this long. I really am. From the bottom of my heart I am sorry.

-AgentDiNozzo13 :)

P.S. WHITE COLLAR RETURNS IN 5 DAYS 3


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: So, to those of you who didn't see the note I posted previous to updating this chapter, I apologize so much for making you wait almost a year. I honestly can't begin to describe how awful I feel for doing that. But, as I'm sure you all understand, life happens sometimes and it makes it hard to fit in things like Fan Fiction. I have had a hell of a lot going on lately but now (and I hope I don't jinx myself) I think things have finally calmed down enough for me to try focusing on updating my un-finished stories (I Didn't Let You Down, Aftermath, and In The Line Of Duty).**

**A quick warning, there is a scene in this chapter that may disturb some readers, so viewer discretion is advised. Don't say I didn't warn you!**

**So, after almost a year of nothing, here is the 18****th ****chapter of I Didn't Let You Down. I don't know how good it will be considering how long it's been, but I hope you all like it! **

**Enjoy!**

The ride from the courthouse to the Burke's house was eerily quiet. Neal sat in the back seat staring out the window the entire time. Peter couldn't help but think it slightly resembled a family car ride, with Peter and El as the parents sitting in front and Neal as the unhappy child sulking in the back.

Peter shot glances at his partner through the rear-view mirror every few minutes to make sure he was holding up. There was no way for him to know what was going through Neal's head at the moment. He could only hope that he was feeling some semblance of relief from the fact that his father was going to prison.

It wasn't until the three people were settled in the house with Neal and Elizabeth on the living room couch and Peter standing stiffly by the television that the silence was broken.

"So are we going to get this over with or were you planning on continuing with your impression of a brick wall for a little while longer?" Neal said in as sarcastic of a tone as he could muster. Normally he would never initiate a conversation like this but he knew it was inevitable and would prefer to get past it and on with his life as soon as possible. He desperately hoped that once this conversation was out of the way, Peter would stop persisting about his past and they could get back to life as it was before all his demons had surfaced. If that was even a possibility anymore.

Peter was taken aback at first but quickly regained his composure and jumped at the chance to talk that Neal had reluctantly offered.

"Are you sure you're up for this, Neal?" Peter asked first, his concern for Neal's emotional well-being momentarily overshadowing his desire to interrogate.

When Neal responded by rolling his eyes, Peter took it as a yes and began to ask the question that had been festering inside him since their unlikely partnership first began.

"Neal, you don't have to answer this right now if you don't want to. I know it's hard. But I need to know." he began, trying to find the right words. After several seconds of silence, Peter sighed and decided to ask straight out rather than beating around the bush. He was never good at emotional conversations. "Neal, you're a master with guns. You have the aim of a guy with 20 years of firearm experience or more. But you hate them… Why?" After several moments of hesitation, he added, "What did your father do to you, Neal?"

Neal tightened his arms slightly, which were crossed over his chest in a defensive manner. Rather than looking Peter in the eye, he kept his gaze off to the side, focusing on the titles of the books that lined the bookshelf next to the television.

"It's really not a big deal." Neal stated, almost seeming annoyed. He was unsure if he was trying to convince Peter or himself.

When Peter didn't respond, Neal sighed and continued.

"When I was younger… like 6 or 7 years old… I had this dog. She wasn't fancy or purebred or anything, just some mutt that I found sleeping behind the school building once. I took her home after I found her, and for a few weeks my father didn't say anything, he just let her stay." He paused for a moment before quietly adding, "I called her Mona, after the Mona Lisa."

Peter was slightly confused by the direction the conversation was taking, but rather than interrupting, he continued to listen to Neal's story in hope that it would begin to make sense.

"At this point I already was pretty good with guns. I used to take my father's gun into the woods when he wasn't home and have target practice. Just in case it ever came in handy."

The casualty in Neal's voice when he said this made Peter wince internally. The idea of a 7 year old teaching himself how to aim a gun because he had to worry about the skill "coming in handy" deeply disturbed him. Despite this, he again stopped himself from interrupting Neal and silently urged him to continue.

At this point Neal's voice had taken on an uncharacteristically dull tone. There was only a small hint of emotion behind the words, all other feelings hidden behind Neal's internal emotional wall.

"So anyway, one day my father came home a little drunk… not that that was a surprise…" he muttered bitterly. "He was in the kitchen, walking to the fridge to get another beer. He didn't see Mona laying on the floor, and he tripped over her. I don't think he even really realized I had a dog until that night. But after he fell, I guess something clicked in his head and he finally noticed her."

He paused for a moment, taking a breath.

"He started yelling for me to come into the kitchen. When I got there, he was holding his gun in his hand and had Mona by her collar in the other hand. He told me to go outside with him. When we got outside, he threw Mona on the ground and kicked her. Hard."

At this point Neal had gone completely monotone, retelling the events as if he were reading a grocery list. His voice didn't even sound like his own. Peter once again resisted the urge to interrupt the younger man.

"When she yelped, he kicked her again. He kept kicking her and kicking her until she could barely breathe. I was yelling for him to stop, but he didn't. Then he pulled me over and put the gun in my hands. He held onto the gun too, forcing me to point it at her. I tried to get away, but he was stronger than me. He was yelling in my ear to pull the trigger. I wouldn't listen, so he put his finger over mine and made me. The bullet hit her in the head, but she didn't die right away. She laid there coughing and choking on blood for a while. He made me watch."

Neal's voice grew quiet as he uttered the final words. He closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair, not wanting to see the reactions on Peter or Elizabeth's faces. With a hollow and defeated voice, he finished his story.

"After that I couldn't stand guns. I still used them once in a while, for safety purposes, and I'm still a pretty good shot. But I hate them. They kill. I'm not a big fan of death, either, in case you couldn't tell."

When Neal finally looked up, he was pleasantly surprised to not see pity on his partner's face. Rather, Peter merely looked deep in thought. He assumed he was only putting up a front so Neal didn't feel uncomfortable with the pity, but regardless, he appreciated it. Pity was never something Neal took well. It was because of this that he resisted looking at El, who still sat on the opposite end of the couch.

"So… is this over?" Neal asked, a hint of hope in his voice.

Peter looked at Neal for a moment, mentally diagnosing his mental state. He seemed oddly calm, likely due to exhaustion. Maybe even a hint of relief, too, that the whole ordeal was coming to an end.

"Yeah, buddy, it's over." Peter said with a small smile.

At that moment, the mood in the room seemed to visibly lighten. It was as if a huge weight was lifted off of everyone's shoulders, allowing them to breathe freely for the first time in weeks.

Neal returned the smile, letting out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding. He looked over at El finally, happy to see that she, too, was smiling.

Neal leaned back in his seat, looking back and forth from Peter to El, basking in the light of their friendship. For one of the first times in his life, Neal felt safe and wanted. It was as if all his past demons were slowly slipping from his memory, dispersing out into the air and away from his memory. He knew the experiences would never truly be gone, but they seemed to finally be taking a back seat to more important memories; the ones he was making today, in his new life.

With a content smile, Neal smirked and asked, "So, Peter… there's this great new art exhibit at the Powell that I heard about. It's a sculpture representing the impact of financial class segregation on modern society, achieved using scrap metal found at an abandoned warehouse over on 5th. It's a little outside my radius, but if I could just get an escort…"

Peter smiled and rolled his eyes, waving Neal off with a flick of his hand, heading into the kitchen to retrieve food for lunch. He had total confidence that he and Neal's relationship was going to return to normal. It was already on the verge, and although he now knew many disturbing facts about his partner, his opinion on the man hadn't changed in the slightest. If anything, Peter had developed a new-found respect for Neal.

Granted, he had already respected Neal previous to the last few weeks events, but this new respect was different. He originally respected Neal for his mind. Neal was an extremely intelligent man who excelled in everything he set his mind to. He was still all these things, but now Peter was aware of Neal's inner strength. It took an unperceivable amount of courage to get through the things Neal had, and Peter couldn't help but feel his heart swell with pride at his partner. As he constructed three sandwiches, he listened contentedly to Neal and Elizabeth's friendly banter from their seat on the living room couch.

Yeah, things were back to normal it seemed. Peter wasn't sure how long it would last, what with Neal's ever-present urge to con and his own job always creating interesting situations, but he didn't mind. He was content to sit back and enjoy this one moment of normalcy. This one moment of pure, uninterrupted happiness. As he balanced the three plates in his hands and brought them out to the table, Neal and Elizabeth looked up at him with large smiles and stood to join him.

After Neal had taken several bites of his sandwich, he swallowed and took a sip of wine, looking across the table at Peter.

"So… any thoughts on that art exhibit?"

**A/N: Well…. The end. I'm really not happy with this chapter, but it's been almost a year since I've written for this story, which I greatly apologize for again, so I guess this is as good as it's gonna get. I feel like I was rambling at the end with all that sappy stuff, but I also felt it should land on a happy note. I owed it to Neal after putting him through all those horrible things. **

**So, for the last time, pretty please review. I would love your thoughts/opinions/criticism on the final chapter. Maybe it will even inspire me to write a new, and hopefully better, White Collar fic. For now I'll just go back to working on Aftermath (my opinion on what happened right after the plane explosion in the season 1 finale) and In The Line Of Duty (an NCIS story about Tony getting caught in the middle of a drug store hold-up). **

**I really hope this chapter wasn't too much of a disappointment, I know it wasn't worth the wait. I still feel awful about waiting that long to update. Too late to change it now though, so I'll just leave it at that. I love my faithful readers/reviewers and I trust that you won't let me down like I did you to. So for the last time, in this story at least, thanks for everything!**

**-AgentDiNozzo13 :)**


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